


you (anchor me back down)

by sarcastic_fina



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Energy Exchange, Energy Powers, F/M, Female Friendship, Healing, Human Experimentation, Kidnapping, Male Friendship, Mentors, Partners to Lovers, Partnership, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Powers!Darcy Lewis, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Darcy Lewis, Rescue Missions, Revenge, Senses, Torture, Training, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:37:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 49
Words: 84,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4659951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'll be right back."</p><p>Famous last words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. taken

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware of the Additional Tags!!!

"I'll be right back."

Famous last words.

Jane doesn’t answer, or if she does, it’s a muffled grunt of some kind. Darcy rolls her eyes as she walks out the door, plugging her earbuds in as she goes and ratcheting the volume up on her iPod to as loud as it’ll get. 

They need groceries. Thor’s recent visit has left the cupboards and the fridge basically empty. She loves the big guy, but he should probably chip in on the grocery bill at some point. She decides to mention it the next time he’s planet side. For now, she’s got money in one pocket and a list of necessities in the other. Jane has underlined Poptarts three times, as if Darcy could possibly forget her boss’s affinity for them.

Truth be told, she’s not expecting be abducted. Who really expects something like that? But she figures, if she is, it’s going to boil down to one of two things. One, she is a friend/ally of Thor’s and they want to use her in some kind of weird hostage situation to get the Thunder God to… Well, she has no idea. She actually thinks that’s a dumb idea. Who wants to piss of a jacked alien and then dangle a friend in front of him to get him to retaliate? What kind of secrets do they think they’ll get from her or Thor? How he manages to keep his hair that pretty? She’d like to know too. But she doesn’t think he’ll spill the beans.

The point is, he’s not someone they should want to fight, which leaves her with option number two.  _Jane_. Brilliant, science loving, astrophysicist that she is, she’s recently let the whole world know that  _hey_ , she isn’t a crack pot, aliens exist, and she kicked their asses. So, it would make some sense if they stole Darcy, her plucky sidekick/intern, to get the deets on what Jane’s working on and how they can recreate it. Sadly, she thinks, they aren’t going to get much.

In any case, those are the only two reasons she can think of for why anyone would want to abduct her. Well, as long as she’s not also considering sex slavery, which… Wow, disturbing. And sad.

Darcy’s walking, mostly because her car was destroyed in the whole Dark Elves situation. And she’s not really paying attention. Something she will definitely regret later. She’s listening to Katy Perry, ' _Dark Horse_ ' blaring in her ears, when a hand suddenly grabs her arm and spins her. She stumbles, because her groove has been completely thrown off. And then she’s looking up into some goon’s face. He’s literally wearing head to toe black, and she briefly considers making a crack about fashion choice, but she’s frozen. Like a deer in the headlights, she just stares. And then he’s yanking her and a van is pulled up to the sidewalk. 

The jolt of her body being forced so abruptly knocks her bag from her shoulder; it tumbles to the pavement, pulling the headphones from her ears in the process. The sudden noise of the city is like cold water; dousing her with a sharp kick of reality. Her legs start moving and she’s pulling at her arm to get free, but then another goon is pushing her in from the other side, and suddenly she’s inside the van, on her hands and knees, confused and scared and really, really angry.

Darcy isn’t the most physical person, and aside from hitting Thor with her taser, she’s also not much of a fighter. She wouldn’t say she was a pacifist, since she enjoys watching Ronda Rousey kick the shit out of people for funsies and she’s definitely cheered on Thor’s asskicking a few times. But she’s never been one for personally putting herself in the line of danger. Run away from things that hurt, that makes sense. Of course, she’s also stuck around Jane the last few years, which has led to not one but  _two_ alien attacks, so maybe she wasn’t as prone to running as she thought. She wants to run now. She wants to get as far away from these assholes as she can get. But she’s trapped. The back of the van is dark and hollow. She screams, as long and as loud as she can, but she doubts anybody can hear her over the sound of traffic. Still, she kicks and bangs on the walls of the van until a little slot opens from the front.

“Shut up or we’ll  _make_ you shut up.”

Darcy wants to be brave; she wants to pretend that threat doesn’t scare her. She wants to mouth off, say “make me,” like she’s daring them to even try. But the words clog up in her throat. Maybe it’s the look in his eye, that unholy gleam like he almost hopes she won’t be quiet, but it stops her. A little voice in her head (is that you Son of Coul?) tells her to stay calm. To think this through. To wait for some kind of opportunity to present itself so she can get out and get free.

That opportunity never comes.

When the van finally stops moving, she’s dragged out of the back and into a facility. The space between the van and the door is small, but the sun is bright and blinds her momentarily; the sudden change from complete darkness to daylight hurts. The door slams behind her, and suddenly its a polished floor squeaking under her sneakers instead of gravel. She trips a little, blinking quickly to relieve the black dots that cover her vision. She tries to see where she is, what’s going on, but the goons are moving quick and they don’t look interested in answering questions.

The cell they put her in, and she can only really call it a cell, is bigger than she’d expect. Maybe they want to give her space to pace her worries out? There’s a cot pushed up against the wall and she finds herself wondering if the place came with cots or if someone had to requisition those. Did bad guys have their own interns to do supplies runs? Was some poor underling stuck decorating this shitty place? Maybe she shouldn’t pity them. She doubts they pity her.

The bed looks clean, and she finds herself wondering again if there’s a crew specifically designed to make sure the facilities are always taken care of. Maybe some housekeeper will sneak in while she’s being interrogated, clean the place up a bit, leave a cyanide pill on her pillow. One could only hope. She drops down onto the bed, stacks her hands atop each other, and stares at the ceiling. 

How long, she wonders, before Jane realizes she’s not back? That she’s been scooped up by… whoever it is that has her? Will she? And what can Jane really do if she does figure it out? Darcy can’t imagine the Avengers getting together to look for her. A lowly intern isn’t quite worth their time, right? But maybe Thor. At least Thor… _Right?_ Or maybe SHIELD would put someone on the case. She deserves that, at least.

She’s stuck in the cell for what feels like hours before they come for her, and it’s exactly what she expects.  _What was Jane Foster researching? How did she build the Einstein-Rosen bridge? How did she make contact with the Avenger known as Thor? Who were the aliens that infiltrated London? What is a Dark Elf? What was used to facilitate their arrival and dispersion? How close are you to Jane Foster? To Thor? Tell us everything you know about Foster’s work. Everything. Tell us. Jane Foster. Thor. Einstein-Rosen. Asgard. Dark Elves. Puente Antiguo. London._  It goes on and on and on. She snarks at first, because that’s what she does, it’s  _who_ she is, and it’s easier to be snarky than it is to admit that she doesn’t know and they scare her.

What kind of value does she have if she doesn’t spread the wealth? She wonders that on the third day of captivity. The answer is simple. She has no value. And someone with no value… Well, why keep them? But she’d seen faces, seen their facility, knew what they were looking for. Which means that she’s a liability now, isn’t she? She laughs until she cries then. Because there is no ‘out.’ There is no 'play along, Miss Lewis, and you will be returned to your regular life.’ There is no  _life_ after this. Save for a rescue she’s not sure is coming, or will make it in time, she is hooped. Done. Finished.

But they keep prodding, keep asking, keep demanding answers, until finally they realize that the well is dry, there is nothing more to learn, not from her. She’s put back in her cell to await the death sentence. The guillotine with her name on it.

When they come for her, it’s not an executioner they bring her to. It’s the scientists. The lab coats that should be comforting and familiar but only send a chill down her spine. This is not Jane. These are not the nerds she’s used to. They look at her and they don’t see Darcy. They don’t see Jane’s feisty intern who took down an alien god with a taser. They see a project. She can see the separation happening right in front of her. The exclusion of humanity. 

She’s strapped down on a table, even as she squirms and fights and screams and begs.  _No, please, stop. No, no, no._

What worth does Darcy Lewis have?

 _Some_. At least scientifically speaking.

Subject 12. That’s what they call her. She wonders where Subjects 1 through 11 are. And then she doesn’t wonder. She doesn’t want to know. 

The first needle feels like fire; it burns away her strength and her hope. 

She stares at the people around her, at the white coats that crowd her view, and as tears slip down her cheeks, she tells them, “I’m Darcy. I’m Darcy.” But they don’t hear her. They don’t listen. Or maybe they just don’t  _care_.

But she’s Darcy.

 _She is_.


	2. hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “[D- Did you see what they did to me?](http://amusewithaview.tumblr.com/post/127443113385/post-trauma-sentence-meme-angst)”

“D- Did you see what they did to me?”

He doesn’t answer. 

She wants to ask if they did the same to him. If her fate will be as she’s seen his to be. But her tongue is heavy and the words won’t come.

The man stands in the corner, shrouded in shadows, but she can see him. She can see a lot of things now. Things she couldn’t see before. Things that would have been blurry without her glasses. It’s not just her sight that’s been ramped up, it’s other things too. Sometimes she can taste things, things that shouldn't be tasted. _Feelings_. Like they pepper the air. The fascination and curiosity of the scientists. The disgust and disturbed glee of her kidnappers. 

She can also  _feel_ things. Feel  _him_. His presence in the room. A chaotic, swirling, mass of energy. While he’s still, eerily so, everything inside him is on overload. He’s not like the others. The scientists that poke and prod, sticking her with needles filled with all kinds of liquids, ignoring her pleas to stop,  _please stop_. He’s not like the other thugs either, that leer or laugh at her expense, that are never careful when they pull her from the wall she’s pinned to and toss her onto the metal table for the scientists to play with. 

No, he’s not like them. He’s like her. They cage him, she knows. Muzzle him like a dog. She’s seen him a couple time since she was brought in, dragged around by his arms, head hanging limply, water dripping from his hair, his skin a chilly blue. She’d shivered; like his icy bones were her own, his fear and stress cold on her tongue. He’d looked up, caught her eye, before he was out of sight once more. The next time she saw him, he was walking ahead of the thugs, loaded up with guns and weapons, emptiness and rage warring in his eyes. He was focused energy then; direct and volatile. The final time he’d walked by her, he was a mass of confusion, of fear and stress and a dim light of hope. He’d looked up, stared her right in the eye, and she felt a swell of compassion like she’d never felt in anyone she’d met since she’d been taken. She’d cried after; a dam breaking inside her. 

She’s not sure how he got in here. Even the thugs only visited when the scientists were present. But there was no one there now. There was yelling before, distant and short. She’d tasted pain and terror on the air and had felt a flare of hope inside her that it was Thor. That Jane had gotten word to him somehow. But she’d had those hopes before and they’d died all too quickly. She wasn’t even sure Jane knew she was missing. She could be so focused. Maybe she thought Darcy had just wandered off, flighty intern that she was. Or maybe she thought Darcy had ditched after the whole dark elves thing. How long ago was that? Weeks? Months? God, the days all melded together. She was so _tired_ …

Her head lists to the side, and the man takes a step forward. She jolts, blinking her eyes at the dark outline of him. “They hurt you too,” she slurs, before frowning and shaking her head. “You should go. Y-You should get away while you s-still can.” 

He walks steadily toward her then, and she stares at his mouth. There’s no muzzle anymore. He’s a lot more handsome than she expected. But still gaunt, still haunted, still fighting that rage in his blood. He reaches for the steel cuffs holding her against the wall, fitting his fingers around them and then  _pulling._ As soon as one arm’s free, she slumps forward. He catches her, a hand on her hip, and then pulls the other arm free. 

Darcy has no strength; she falls against him, boneless. He catches her, tucks an arm under her legs and lifts her up. Head on his shoulder, she peers up at him, at a scar under his chin, and shivers. Much as she appreciates what she thinks is a surprise rescue attempt, with his arms around her, he’s not going to have any way to fight off the scientists or thugs that fill the compound. “If they catch us…” 

“They won’t,” he says, his voice low and deep. She can taste the certainty coming off him, and the satisfaction too. He turns and walks them to the door. “I killed them.” 

Darcy relaxes then, tears of relief flooding her eyes. She turns her face against his shoulder and hums. “Thank you.” 

He squeezes her, just once, and then he carries her out of hell. 


	3. nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “[It’s okay. You’re going to be okay](http://amusewithaview.tumblr.com/post/127443113385/post-trauma-sentence-meme-angst).”

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

He knows that voice. He  _knows_ it. He doesn’t know a lot of things these days. They slip through his fingers before he can grasp them completely. Threads of memories of thoughts of faces, just out of reach. But he knows her. He trusts her.

His head is in her lap. He doesn’t remember when that happened, or how, he relaxes into it, into her hand on his shoulder and her fingers running through his hair. She hums, low and soothing. He focuses on it, on the anchor her body provides, and he _breathes_. Through the panic and fear and confusion, he breathes. 

His vision is cloudy when he opens his eyes and blinks as they sting. He doesn’t sleep much, avoids it when he can, mostly because of what just happened. The nightmares come without fail, drag him down and take him apart. He’s tired of being broken up into pieces. Useful and useless. Discarding what doesn’t fit, replacing it with what does. He’s a puzzle, even to himself. He doesn’t want to be. But he is.

They’re in a building. The windows are broken, paper and shattered glass. A street lamp filters through to climb across the dusty, grimy floor. Her legs are outstretched, crossed at the ankle. She’s wearing the clothes they stole. Everything they have is stolen, nothing of their own. They’re on the run; have been since he took her out of the facility. He broke into a motel that night, let her sleep in a real bed while he sat in a chair facing the door, waiting to be found, to have to fight their way out. But no one came. In the morning, she stood on shaky legs. She didn’t ask for help, just shuffled her way into the bathroom. He could hear her crying in the shower. When she came back out, she offered a trembling smile. “We shouldn’t stay here too long. They’ll find us.” 

_Us._

He likes how she includes him. He wasn’t expecting them to stick together. He’d just known he needed to go back for her. Couldn’t leave her behind with them. Let them experiment on her, destroy her, take her part like they did him. So he went back for her, and now they’re an ‘us.’ A team. Partners in this fucked up situation that is only beginning. He’s not sure yet where it’s going. They’re coming. He knows this. Maybe he should go for them first. Cut them off at the throat. 

 _Cut off one head_ –

So maybe he cuts off all the heads. Every goddamn one of ‘em. 

Maybe. 

The idea settles into his bones, warms him for the first time in decades. 

“We need food. And clothes,” she says, drawing her attention back to him. 

He stares at her, her legs still shaky. She’s weak, tired, like a wounded animal. HYDRA would put her down. She’s not prime partner material, not for the Asset. But he’s not the Asset. Not anymore. He’s not sure who he is, but he’s not that. She told him to go, told him to run, to save himself. That’s when he knew he had to get her out. 

He’d seen her before. He thinks he did. He doesn’t always remember it right. But he remembers her eyes, big and blue and full of tears. He remembers the way she looked at him, reaching across the divide,  _seeing_ him. He’s good at being in the dark, in the corners, in being overlooked until he’s needed. He wasn’t supposed to be seen; it helped with his job. But she saw him. She  _saw_ him. And now she won’t stop seeing him. He doesn’t want her to. 

She sits at the edge of the bed, her hands on her knees. 

He stares at her, his brow furrowed. “What’d they do to you?” he wonders. He remembers needles and chains and screaming. He remembers the scientists talking, walking around her, writing down things in their little books, ignoring her pleas to let her go,  _please, stop._  

“They…” She frowns, her eyes on the floor. “They changed me.” When she looks up, her eyes hurt enough that he flinches. Full of pain and terror. “I- I can see things, and feel things, and taste things. I…” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to.” She raises her hands then, grips at her hair and presses them tight to her head. 

She’s a liability, unhinged and untrained. 

He stands from the chair, considers leaving, considers who might find her, whether she’d call for help, for someone she trusts. Does she have a man on the bridge to come for her? He doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t walk out the door. He walks to her instead, and he kneels in front of her. Vulnerable. Too vulnerable. He lifts a hand, hesitates, but eventually,  _finally_ , puts it on top of hers. “Me too,” he says. 

She cries, a great, struggling whoosh of wet air, and then she reaches for him. Her arms wrap around him, her face buried in his shoulder, but it’s not what he expects. It’s not an attack, it doesn’t hurt, it’s gentle and needy and full of pain. She holds him.  _Hugs_ him. Like he isn’t a trained killer or the Asset or the soldier. He’s just a man. A  _person_. He holds her too, heavy arms slowly reaching around her, steadying her.

They stay there much longer than they should, wrapped around each other, stabilizing one another. But eventually, they get up, get moving. They break into a car, steal clothes out of a few suitcases left in the truck, dress in the dark parking lot, and then leave. She reaches for his hand, holds on tight, and he lets her. 

They stay hidden during the day, too bright, too obvious, but at night, they move, from place to place, keeping their heads down, staying out of sight. He’s not sure where they’re going yet, but it’s somewhere. Wherever it is, it’ll be together. 

Her fingers rub down his arm, drawing him back into now, into reality, he drifts sometimes, has to be reminded where, and when, it is. 

“Sleep,” she tells him. “It’s been days.” 

He should, he knows he should. But it’s never as restful as it should be. The nightmares will come again. They’ll always come.

Still, he closes his eyes and reaches for her fingers on his arm, tangling them together. He doesn’t need to say it, he knows that, he still asks, “Stay?” 

Her fingers skate over his cheek. “Promise.” 

He doesn’t know a lot of things. But he knows that’s true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[forevergingeratheart](http://www.forevergingeratheart.tumblr.com/)** made a lovely piece of fanart for this chapter, check it out **[here](http://sarcasticfina.tumblr.com/post/127628135587)**!


	4. poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “[I thought they were going to kill me…](http://amusewithaview.tumblr.com/post/127443113385/post-trauma-sentence-meme-angst)”

“I thought they were going to kill me…”

She says it quietly, simply, while she lays in the grass, plucking strands at random and rubbing them between her fingers. 

His back is against a tree, nothing but field all around them, and a road, far enough away that they won’t be spotted by passing vehicles. They’re on the move again; occasionally, they hitchhike, picking farm trucks they can sit in the back of rather than making small talk with locals. But for right now, they’re resting, and eating. They stole a few apples from an orchard twenty minutes back. Darcy had used her shirt to carry them, grinning up at him like they’d just hit the jackpot. She does that sometimes. The pain recedes and she becomes a bright light, young and innocent like he can’t quite remember ever being. Maybe  _Before_. Before the war and HYDRA and a train on a snow-capped mountain.  _Maybe_.

“I didn’t think so at first. I thought they grabbed me because of Jane. That they wanted information. And they did, but… After, when they realized I couldn’t give them what they wanted, that I didn’t understand even half of what Jane was doing, then I thought, ‘That’s it, it’s over.’ They had no reason to keep me alive after that, y’know? But… They found a reason. Waste not, want not, I guess…” 

She squints up at the sky, even though he knows her vision is perfect; better than perfect. She sees things the human eye shouldn’t be able to. She calls it a zooming effect, so she can see microscopic things if she really tries or far into the distance. It would be useful in the field, he thinks sometimes. But they’re not in the field. Not really. They’re afloat with no direction, no mission, just…  _free_. Or as free as they’ll ever get.

“It’s not like what they did to you. I don’t think so anyway. I don’t… I don’t  _heal_ like you do. It was something though. Whatever they put in me. It changed me. I guess it could’ve been worse. I could have have really shitty powers. I heard about a girl whose skin was poison. Anyone that touches her, she kills them.” She rolls onto her stomach then and looks at him. “I thought about that. When I was there. I hoped that’s what would happen to me.” She shrugs. “Serve ‘em right.” 

His mouth twitches. It would. Poetic justice that they end up dying because they played with forces they shouldn’t. Killed by the thing they created. 

“Instead I got this. Whatever it is.” She stares at him a long moment. “You’re calm today. I can taste it.” Turning over onto her back again, she closes her eyes and tucks her arms under her head. “I make you calm.” 

He hums; it’s as close as she’ll get to confirmation. But she does. She treats him like a person and she tries to protect him, to help him however she can. She  _stays_ with him. 

She smiles then, he can tell. “You make me calm too.” 

He stares at her, at the breeze that ruffles her long hair and the spread of her eyelashes atop her cheeks. He does make her calm. He’s held her after her nightmares, shushed her and rubbed her back, and she sinks into him, presses herself against his chest, trusts him to keep her safe, even from the terrors of her own mind. They anchor each other, pick each other up, push each other forward. To what, neither of them know, but they keep going. 

It’s a few minutes before she says anything, but when she does, he goes still. 

“I want you to train me,” she tells him. “So if they come…  _when_ they come… I’ll be ready.” 

It’s not poison skin, but it is a poison, the way vengeance threads through her veins, through his too. But it’s theirs, and they’ve built a certain kind of immunity to it. It will kill those who made them though. He likes that. He likes it a lot. 

So he answers, “Okay.”

They’ll start tomorrow.


	5. better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t think you’re trying to, but you’re telegraphing your moves.”

“I don’t think you’re trying to, but you’re telegraphing your moves.” 

He pauses, head cocked, and Darcy shrugs. “Micro-movements. If it makes you feel better, I don’t think anybody else would see it, but…” She motions to her eyes. “I can’t help it. Well, I  _can_. But you said to use every advantage I’ve got, so…” 

“Seeing it coming doesn’t mean you can block it,” he reminds her. To prove this, he knocks her feet out from under her. 

Darcy stares at the ceiling of the building they’re staying in. There were other squatters here, before, but they’d scurried off when they arrived. She could smell their suspicion and fear, wary of the strangers. She understands it. Dangers wafts off him like a giant warning sign. She takes a weird sort of comfort in it. Maybe because it’s never directed at her; he’s never been a threat where she’s concerned. Or maybe because she knows who it’s really for; their mutual enemy. 

He holds a hand out to help her up and she takes it, lets him yank her up so she’s back on her feet. She dusts off her second-hand pants and stretches side to side to relieve the ache of her fall. They’ve been doing this for weeks now. The only reason they’re closer to town is because he’s training her. “You need to eat more; can’t do that in the middle of nowhere.” So they keep closer to civilization, visiting soup kitchens and picking up food baskets where they can. She can feel how frayed his nerves are; he doesn’t like lingering, but he’s making allowances. 

She can feel the change in her body, the muscle building in her arms and legs. She’s quicker too; she reacts to an attack instead of freezing. She froze when HYDRA came for her, dropped her bag as they pulled her off the sidewalk and threw her into a van. She refused to do that again. Refused to let anyone get one over her. Refused to ever be a victim again. She was free now and she was going to stay that way. 

She looks up at James, shakes off the pain, and gets back into position. 

He tips his head at her, eyeing her quickly, and then he nods, like he’s proud of her. 

She won’t win. She knows that. But the longer the fights, the better at it she gets. And not everyone is like him. HYDRA  _wishes_ it were as lethal, as efficient, as he is. They used him like a tool, like their guard dog; unleashed when necessary, caged when not. He’s not her tool. He’s her friend. Her partner. 

When she throws a kick, he catches her foot and flips her. She catches herself, hands on the floor. She still stumbles, but it’s not as bad it could be. The floors rattle underneath her landing; the noise echoes through the building a moment. She can feel the pride wafting off him now too and she grins up at him. 

“Better,” he says. 

He doesn’t give out praise easily. He picks and chooses how much and how often. But she can feel it all the same. Taste it in the air. The things he feels around her are different to how he feels with others. Wary, suspicious, angry, confused. He has a whole myriad of feelings, one after the other, conflicting with each other depending on who he’s thinking of. But with her, he’s calm. He’s content and proud and protective. He worries and soothes and cares. 

She’s not even sure he knows how much he cares. But he does. And she cares back. 

Swiping her hand over her forehead, she walks toward him, bouncing in place before she drops back to her heels and raises her fists up. “Again.” 

And he smirks, mimicking her pose. 

She remembers, when they started, she’d asked him if he thought she could do it. If he thought she could fight like him. Beat HYDRA like him. And he’d shaken his head. “Not like me,” he’d said. “ _Better_.” She wasn’t sure what he meant. She’ll never be as precise, as honed, as strong as him. But he’d meant it. Maybe he thought she was a better person, that she shouldn’t compare them to each other. But she doesn’t think so. He was  _used_. Everything he did, it was never his fault, not really. He doesn’t argue when she tells him that, he just listens, lets her words wash over him, even as doubt fills him. She can taste his shame sometimes. His guilt. It eats at him. 

Even if she didn’t have her own score to settle with HYDRA, she thinks she’d take them apart just for what they did to him. But, as it is, she does have a score. So she’ll take them down twice as hard. 

 _No mercy_. 


	6. battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They're here."

“They’re here.”

She wakes because the energy is so  _potent_. It sizzles on her tongue, tasting of ash and gun oil. They reek of anticipation, eager for a fight, adrenaline spiking and fear underlying it all. 

He’s still sleeping. He’s been doing better lately; the nightmares still come, but it’s closer to the end, letting him sleep longer. She wonders if their training sessions exhaust him to the point where he doesn’t dream or think when they finally lay down to rest; an unexpected upside. She needs him awake now though. 

He’s laying on his back, with her between him and the wall. He does that, tries to put himself between her and any danger. It’s a habit he’s unwilling to break or explain. 

She moves over him, bracketing his hips with her knees, and brings her face level with his. The very tip of her nose brushes his, and his eyes open abruptly. “ _Shh_ ,” she whispers, breath fanning over his lips. 

He stares up at her, his brow furrowed, and then his eyes move from hers down to her mouth. She’d be flattered if the situation were different. 

She mouths, “HYDRA,” and tips her head meaningfully. 

He goes still then, turns his eyes to the side as he listens, and a muscle jumps in his jaw. 

They have a choice here, and a very small window to make it in. They can run, sneak out before HYDRA finds them, or they can fight. They don’t have enough weapons yet. Knives are easy to lift; guns, not so much. Well, depending on which state they’re in, anyway. So this would all be hand-to-hand versus heavily armed soldiers. She tries to weigh the risk versus reward. 

 **Risk** : they could die, or at least be heavily injured

 **Reward** : she could take some of them with her

 **Risk** : he might have a word trigger that incapacitates him

 **Reward** : he’d probably unarm at least two of them, and she’s pretty sure with a few guns, they’d have a small advantage

 **Risk** : she’s not sure how many there are, and there could be more outside

 **Reward** : ...she’s got nothing

 **Risk** : even if they did get guns, she has no training with them, and if he thinks she’s in danger at any point, he might give himself up. and then they’d both be back where they started...

She levers herself up off of him. “We’re leaving,” she says, reaching for and pulling her go-bag over. There’s not a lot in it, some leftover protein bars from their last visit to the food bank and some clothes they lifted from a nearby thrift shop. But it’s hers and she’s not leaving it behind. 

He stands, watches her a moment, and then his eyes slide back to the doorway. This building wasn’t meant for taking cover in, not properly. There were to many entrances, the walls and floors were thin, and everything creaked. Actually, that last part was a good indicator of exactly where the HYDRA agents were. Which was at the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor. 

Darcy steps up to the window and peers out through a crack. There are trucks outside, and two, no,  _three_  armed thugs, fingers heavy on the triggers of their guns, tapping incessantly. But the rest, she thinks, are inside, and coming for them. 

When she turns back to him, his hands are clenched into fists. She walks to him, reading the air for signs that he’s freezing up. Instead, she smells rage, like black smoke and burning embers. She covers his flesh fist with her hand and squeezes. He turns his eyes toward her, but the rest of him is still tense. 

“Not now,” she says. “Not yet.”

He grinds his teeth, but Darcy’s firm. “We need more time.” 

They’re halfway up the stairs, moving slow to avoid anymore squeaking stairs, and probably to avoid the inevitable. As much as they wanted to project a sense of eager anticipation for taking down the Winter Soldier, she can smell the fear, it’s strong and vinegar-y. 

Bag slung over her back, Darcy grabs up his too, and then looks to him, her eyebrow raised. He sighs, shoulders falling, and then follows her. There’s a room off from where they sleep; she’d already pulled the wood off the windows and cleaned out the glass from around it just in case they needed a quick exit. She climbs up onto the ledge and peers down below. The thugs by the SUV aren’t looking up, aren’t expecting them to be on the move. She climbs out onto the ledge and edges her way down a little, waiting for him to join her. He hesitates, but eventually crawls out. They move down the ledge before they’re close enough to the neighboring building that they can jump across to the roof. Darcy bends her knees a little and pushes herself forward. 

She’s just caught herself, feet on the very edge, when the bullets start flying. Her arms windmill as she teeters backwards. 

He jumps across, slams into her back, and takes them both down to the roof,  _hard_ , his body covering hers. 

“Ow,” she mutters, but it goes unheard as he pulls her up, hand under her elbow. 

The guards by the SUV must have spotted them. She can smell their panic now, and hear the footsteps and rushing heartbeats of the others as they flee from the building in pursuit. 

Darcy’s knees hurt from how she landed, but she has no time to think about it before they’re racing across the roof and jumping across to an adjacent building. If the divide seems too large, he grabs her and throws her across; she goes with it and crouches into a roll. It’s not a soft landing, but she deals with it. He backs up and taking a running leap; it easy for him, and she can admit she’s a little envious. 

They cross five building tops before they run out of places to go and have to change direction. Avoiding alleyways that will only pen them in, he leaps off a ledge and lands atop a car. She can hear the distant noise of an SUV revving and of jackbooted thugs running toward them. He holds his arms out and says, “Jump.” 

She does. 

And she swallows her scream. 

He catches her; she hadn’t doubted he would. She doesn’t expect him to take her hand, but he does, pulling her down the street. They’re a block up before she hears an explosion, and then smells gasoline, terror, and blood. He looks over at her, a vaguely satisfied smile edging at his lips. 

She takes another sniff of the air. “Where’d you get a bomb?” 

He shrugs. “Made one.”

Darcy blinks at him. “You  _made_ one...” She swats his arm. “And you didn’t think to invite me?” 

He chuffs out a laugh, but then he’s focused again and pulling her along. They find a car two blocks over and he breaks the window with his fist. Darcy tosses her bag inside and then bends down to hotwire it while he circles around to take the passenger seat. They’re on the road and driving away from danger in under a minute, but her heart is still pounding and her palms are sweaty. He’s shifted in his seat, staring out the back, looking for any sign that they’re being tailed. 

Darcy lets her eyes zoom in and out, moving across the landscape in front of them. They’re not close. She’d smell if they were. She wonders how many the bomb took out and unapologetically hopes for all of them. But hope is cheap these days. 

“How’d they find us?” she wonders. 

He frowns. “Cameras, probably.” He casts an eye around irritably. “They’re everywhere.”

This is why they liked staying out of the city; they could keep their head down and go unnoticed. “Where do you want to go?” Her fingers flick toward the turning signal, but it seems silly considering the situation, so she lets it go and keeps driving, turning onto a street leading to the highway. It’s the long way, but it’ll have to do. 

“We need weapons,” he tells her, shifting around to sit properly. “You need to learn how to shoot.”

She nods, because he’s not wrong. For now, she’ll keep to trying to get them as far away from HYDRA as she can, but eventually, she’ll have to figure out where the best chances are of them getting them loaded up on guns and ammunition. Today’s fight was small potatoes, she knows. But the fight that’s coming won’t be. She finds her mind drifting to college then, of debates surrounding gun control and which side she’d fallen on. It was Tony Stark that always sparked the conversation; of his previous business in weapons and his current business of a weaponized humanity saving suit. It makes her pause and glance at him. 

“Captain America probably has a few guns he’d let us borrow,” she says, curious about his reaction. 

He frowns. “No.” 

She hums, checking the mirrors even though she can’t feel HYDRA’s presence anymore. “You never talk about him.”

“Nothing to say.” 

“He was your best friend,” she pushes. “He’s the reason you even remembered. Why you were able to get free. Get me free too...” 

“We’re not going to him,” he tells her firmly. 

She scowls stubbornly. “ _Why?”_

“Because.” He sighs, shaking his head. “This isn’t his fight.” 

She gets it then, gets his reluctance, and she relaxes a little. “Fine. There are plenty of other places to get guns.” She looks over at him. “But when it’s over...” 

He smiles at her, but it’s sad and empty and exhausted. “Not so sure it ever will be, doll.” 

Her eyes stay on him a long moment, before eventually drifting back to the road. She takes a hand off the steering wheel and holds it out to him. He doesn’t hesitate to take it; he rarely does anymore. “It will be. We’ll make sure of it.” 

He squeezes her hand, lets his metal thumb stroke over her knuckles. “Us,” he says, a certain weight to the word. 

And she nods. “Us.”


	7. failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When SHIELD falls, Jane laughs.

When SHIELD falls, Jane laughs.

She laughs and laugh and  _laughs_. 

Until she cries. 

It makes sense now. It makes so much sense. Six months earlier, she’d practically  _begged_ SHIELD to find Darcy. She’d called them, over and over, until there was no avoiding her anymore. She told them to do something, to find her, to bring her back. She reminded them that Darcy was a civilian, she didn’t have the kind of training they did. She didn’t care about what research she might spill, that wasn’t the point. Darcy had been taken and chances were, it was because of her. And SHIELD had promised, had  _assured_ her, they were doing everything they could to find her missing intern. 

Not at first, of course. At first they were ‘too busy’ and ‘are you sure she didn’t simply go home? some people can’t handle the stress of alien invasions.’ As if they’d handled the last two alien invasions any better. But eventually, when she’d told them vehemently that no, Darcy did not just  _go home_ , she’d checked, and a bag with Darcy’s ID and a shattered iPod had been dropped off at the police station, so clearly something was wrong. Then it was all, ‘we understand perfectly, Doctor Foster, and I assure you, we will do everything we can to find Miss Lewis.’ 

Agent Jasper Sitwell, who she now knew to be a HYDRA double agent, had said in a completely straight, even reassuring, tone, that SHIELD would get Darcy home. All the while knowing exactly where she was and what was happening to her. He was still alive, she would taser him repeatedly in Darcy’s honor.

It’s Maria Hill that gives her the records. They (she doesn’t specific  _who_ , exactly) raid a HYDRA base two weeks after SHIELD falls and Hill returns baring gifts. The file is as thick as Jane’s wrist, full of diagnostics and notes, observations on how Darcy was reacting to the veritable cocktail of serums she’d been injected with, seeing what would and wouldn’t stick and how they were interacting with her genetic make-up. They took note of allergies, of days when Darcy had been plagued with fevers and vomiting, of a strange white foam that gurgled out of her throat until she was choking so bad they had to put her out and manually open up her airways. It was clinical, the way they talked about her. They never used her name, just ‘Subject 12,’ like her humanity wasn’t worth the ink. They had no time for things like that. She was their experiment. Their toy. Their science project. 

Jane threw up after the first few pages, but forced herself to keep reading. She knocked back a bottle of wine, scrubbing at her eyes, her hands shaking, papers spread out all over, pictures of incisions and needle holes and evidence of her body’s reaction to each injection. Patches of skin that were mottled and swollen, bruised and oddly colored. And her eyes, pupils blown wide and then narrowed down to pin pricks. But the worst... The worst were the pictures of her on the wall, pinned there by metal cuffs, limp and lifeless, the fight drained out of her, tears silently spilling down her cheeks. 

Jane screamed then. She threw the file and the wine bottle and every piece of furniture that was close to her. And she  _screamed_. Until she was hoarse and exhausted, sitting on her knees, surrounded by chaos and not the least bit comforted by it. 

Darcy’s broken iPod was in Jane’s purse. She took it with her everywhere. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like Darcy would care when she got back.  _If_ she got back. But she’d held on to it. Taking comfort in having something of her snarky intern. Her  _friend_. What kind of a friend was she though? She asked herself that every night, as she lay in bed, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, awash in guilt? 

It took  _hours_ for her to realize Darcy hadn’t come home. That her short grocery run had never happened. She’d called for her -- “Darcy? Hey, I was thinking we’d order out tonight... I know, I know, you just picked up food, but I’m craving Chinese. We’ll get dim sum, I know how much you like...” The apartment was empty, the fridge sparse, and Darcy’s sneakers, the ones she always kicked off aimlessly instead of lining up with the others, were missing. She tried to call her at first; she called and called and left messages. But nothing. No answer. 

Unlike SHIELD, she never thought Darcy would go home. It just didn’t make sense. She’d stayed after the Destroyer incident; she kept Jane going after years of waiting on Thor and finally losing direction; she enjoyed the search and the payoff of  _finding_. Darcy wouldn’t leave. Not to mention all of her things were still in her room. Still, she called Darcy’s mom, just to be sure something hadn’t happened, that maybe she’d been called home very suddenly. But her mom said she hadn’t heard from Darcy since the prior weekend and they had no plans for her to come back from London any time soon. 

That was what led Jane to the police station to file a missing person’s report. They were halfway through telling her it was too early to file a report, there was a standard amount of time she had to wait, before they recognized the name and pulled Darcy’s purse out from a box under the front desk. “This was brought in earlier... Is this the same person you’re referring to...?” And that’s when she knew. When her worst fear was made real. 

It’s Hill that finds her the next morning, curled up on the floor, in the center of it all. She calmly steps over the broken bits of furniture and glass, the scattered pages of a file detailing how they took apart a young woman for their own purposes. She kneels down carefully and waits for Jane to meet her eyes. She’s hung over and angry and awash in grief and guilt, but she lifts her chin, sniffles, and looks at Hill. 

“From what we can tell, we think she survived. The facility she was in was... destroyed. Everyone inside was killed. We didn’t find her though.” 

Jane swallows, and then sits forward, tucking her hair back behind her ears and smearing tear trails with the backs of her hands. “Was it Darcy? Did she...? What they did to her, they were trying to give her powers, weren’t they?” Her eyes dart across the floor then, reaching for and grabbing up the nearest pages. “They were trying to turn her into a weapon.  _Their_ weapon. It could have backfired!” 

“We don’t know,” Hill admits. “Security footage goes dark before we can see who attacked... But it is  _possible_ that Lewis’s powers, whatever they are, manifested, and she... decided she wanted out.” 

Jane took an unsteady breath. “This is good then, right? She-- She’s  _alive_.” A hysterical laugh bubbles in her throat, but doesn’t have the chance to leave her. 

Hill grimaces a moment and then casts her eyes around Jane’s face searchingly. “I know that SHIELD didn’t help you the way you deserved. You trusted us and we failed you, Doctor Foster. I can’t apologize enough for that.” 

Jane eyed her warily, her brows furrowed. “Why do I hear a ‘but’ coming...?” 

“ _But_... I need you to understand that the Darcy that went into that facility, may not be the Darcy that came out of it... The experiments that these people undergo, the serums and the genetic doctoring, sometimes it makes for a very... volatile person.” 

Stiffening then, Jane glares at her. “What exactly are you trying to say here? Because it sounds like you’re telling me I should give up on her...” 

“Not give up. Just... be  _prepared._ ” Her face is stoic as she tells her, “A lot of people were in that facility, and they were all dead, violently, by the time we got there. That doesn’t sound to me like the person you described your intern to be.” 

“If she killed them, they deserved it.” Jane shoves the papers, gripped tight in her hands, toward Maria meaningfully. "The things they did to her... It was  _disgusting_. They deserve whatever they got.” Her chin raises then, unwilling to be told different. 

“I don’t disagree,” Hill admits. “I just want you to be prepared for the event that the person you’re looking for is lost. Survival doesn’t always mean salvageable.” 

“You don’t know Darcy.” Jane shakes her head, certain now. “I’m getting her back.” She stands then, and starts grabbing up the scattered papers. She needs to know exactly what happened to Darcy, what serums and chemicals were used, how they might have manifested. There could be a clue there to tracking her down. “Thank you, for telling me, Agent Hill. But I have a lot of work to do.” 

Hill nods, standing from her crouch. She pulls a card from her pocket then, and leaves it on the arm of the couch, one of the few pieces of furniture still in tact. “I’m working at Stark Industries now. If you need... anything, call me. Any resources I can offer, I will.” 

Jane pauses then, and looks back at the cool and collected woman in front of her. She knows that most of what Maria’s done is because of her own guilt, for not realizing that the company she kept was as corrupt as it turned out to be and had played a part in Darcy’s abduction and the ensuing cover up. But she also knows that her offer to help is genuine, and maybe that matters more. 

“Thank you,” she says. 

Hill nods at her, a quick bow of her head, and then she leaves Jane’s apartment, as quietly as she’d arrived. The silence echoes then, but Jane is quick to fill it with her muttering. She has something to focus on now, something she can use to track down her friend. 

And she will.

She’s going to find Darcy and bring her home. 

She won’t fail her.

Not again. 


	8. time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Are you sure this is safe?”

"Are you sure this is safe?”

They’re in the middle of raiding an old HYDRA bunker for supplies. Her nose wrinkles. She can taste sweat and rust and blood on the air; old and musty, but still there. She can smell his nerves too, but they’re not as high as she expects. 

“Safe as it can be,” he mutters. His shoulders are stiff and his eyes are sharp as he takes in the room. There’s cots and an old desk shoved up against one wall. On the back wall, there’s shelving units filled with dry and canned food on one side and ammunition on the other. At least they had their priorities straight. 

Snorting to herself, she walks forward, considering what’s available. “No one’s been here in a while,” she tells him. “Residual energy is old.” 

He’s staring at a three-walled cement room, a single, dying bulb hanging above the center and a drain in the floor. She shivers and doesn’t need her vision to narrow down to know the dark coloring around the drain is blood. She briefly wonders how many interrogations happened here, and then decides thinking about it will only make her more uncomfortable, so she stops. 

He breaks the metal lock off of an adjacent room and walks inside, the whole line of his body tensed and focused. She lets him linger there, brooding and angry. She can hear him fiddling with something, assumes from the smell and the noises that its a gun, and continues perusing the food supply, checking expiration dates on the cans before grimacing and moving on to something else. 

When he finally rejoins her, he’s got three guns hooked over his shoulders and neck, and four more tucked into various places on his person. “We can’t stay here,” he tells her.

“Didn’t think we would. This place smells like  _death_. I don’t want to stay any longer than you do.” She points at a duffle bag she found, placed on a table in the middle, filled to the brim with whatever food was salvageable. “There’s a few other bags over there. I figured you’d want to load up on guns.” 

He puts the guns he has inside the bag, but grunts and starts searching around the ammunition shelf for cleaning supplies, adding it to a third bag. 

She watches him a moment, leaning against a wall, arms tucked behind her. His shoulders are hunched and he keeps letting his hair fall to cover his face. He’s been keeping it back more lately, tying it up with elastics she gives him. But he hides when he’s uncomfortable, keeps his gaze down and limits how much he says. She finds she can read him like a book now; one of her favorites, in fact. Bookmarked with scribbled writing in the margins and highlighted passages. 

She crosses the space between them and presses herself to his back, her cheek against his shoulder blade. Her body molds to his, warm and firm, hands slung low on his hips. “No one’s coming. It’s just us. You’re okay,” she tells him. 

And he breathes; one deep breath in and unsteadily out. Her hands slide up to his chest, covering his lungs like protective wings. He closes his eyes, she can feel his lashes dusting the air before they meet his cheeks, and he covers her hands with his. 

They stay like that, just breathing, until she can feel his heart even out and the stress bleed out of his body. His thumbs stroke over the tops of her fingers, and she’s not swaying, he’s not either, but it feels like it. It feels like they’re drifting on the notes of a song, one only they can hear. It dips and rises, flows around and through them. The spell doesn’t so much break as it eases away, like the vibration of a piano string slowing to stillness, letting them drift back to reality. 

He doesn’t let go, he never does, he waits for her to. She doesn’t want to, she likes where she is, but they need to get moving. So she slides her hands down his front; his shirt is thin and worn and she can feel every firm inch of him. She shouldn’t linger, but she does, biting her lip as her fingers trail to his hips. There’s a flash, an image in her head, of her nails and her teeth, biting into his hips, scraping and scratching against taut, bare skin. Her heart lurches in her chest.

"We should move,” she murmurs. 

He turns to face her, his eyes dark, and she finds her breathing a little heavy. She tastes lust, like cinnamon and sweat and fire; it sizzles on her tongue and ripples through her veins. She can’t tell if its his or hers or  _both_ , twined together and pulsing with bright energy. He takes a step forward and she takes one back, until her legs hit the table, and then he’s against her, thigh to thigh. He leans forward, a hand planted beside her hip on the table, his chest brushing against hers, and she stares up at him, her lips parted. 

His gaze wanders to her mouth and then all around, mapping out every inch of her face, before returning to her eyes. She can hear his heart, quicker now, the blood in his veins, rushing, the air in his lungs, picking up pace, and she likes it. She likes this reaction. It’s not calm, but it’s not bad either. It’s nothing like the effect other people have on him. 

He reaches for her, fingers trailing over her cheek, and he takes a stray piece of hair, tugs on it, and then tucks it behind her ear. He’s gentle, careful, like he thinks he might break her somehow. She’s been broken. Been shattered. Taken apart and shoved back together. This is not that.  _He_ is not that. Not to her. 

She expects a kiss. She wants one. She’s not just sure where that kiss will land or lead. He’s close enough now that she can feel his breath fanning over her mouth and her chin, his nose lightly grazing her own. Tilting her head, she stares up at him, watches him, waits for a cue. His fingers slide down the length of her jaw, catch her chin, and tip it up. His mouth lands at the corner of her lips, warm and soft and lingering. She can feel the faint drag of his stubble against her skin and it makes her smile. 

Reaching for him, she scratches her fingers over a faint scar on his chin; she remembers it well. He leans into the bite of her nails and huffs out a breath against her mouth. He’s a strange combination of tender and fierce, needy and carefully controlled. His fingers bury in her hair, cradle the nape of her neck, and he stares at her lips a long moment, like she’s an enigma he’s still figuring out. Which is funny, she thinks, because she’s never had anyone who knew her quite so well as him. But she also knows what it means; that he wants this, wants every part of it, he’s just now sure how or when. Because now feels right, it does, but is it? 

She touches his wrist, thrums her thumb over his pulse, and then slides her hand down the hard length of his metal forearm. Her other hand reaches up to pluck at the front of his shirt lightly. “We have time,” she says. Even if she’s not sure how true that is. Time is a strange concept these days. She doesn’t like wasting it, but she also knows that so much has been taken from them already and they should be allowed to move and explore at whatever pace they deem fitting. 

He purses his lips, and the look on his face is full of uncertainty, like he’s thinking the same thing. Time can be taken from them without warning, leaving behind nothing but guilt and regret and sorrow. 

“We have time,” she says again, firmly this time, because they do, _they will,_ she’ll make sure of it. 

And he looks at her, still wounded and broken and hesitant to believe. But then her hand is on his cheek, stroking under his eye, and she smiles at him, gentle and soothing. “Trust me?” 

He’s resolved then, his face going firm and serious, and he nods, looking at her with a fierce certainty. 

“Okay.” She leans up, presses her forehead to his, and whispers, “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. We’ve got time. I promise.” 

They’re a tangle then, of arms and bodies and even hair, wrapped up in each other, coiled like ribbons, frayed but still strong. She can taste hope (spring rain speckled on the pavement), and want (warm skin and sweat on clean sheets),  and something else, something like love or devotion (it’s leather and gun powder and metal - she thinks that one’s more specific, more him and her than people in general); she likes it.

Eventually, they untie from each other, but stay close. They load up the guns and ammunition and food in three different bags, and then they leave the bunker, climb from its grimy, dark depths, and return to the world above. Night shrouds them, keeps them covered and hidden. The moon is high, and an owl hoots in a nearby tree. His fingers brush against hers, reaching out, and she folds hers around them, metal kissing skin. 

They’ll find shelter tonight, hole up somewhere semi-safe, and clean the guns they’ve stolen, until they’re in pristine firing condition. And tomorrow she will learn to shoot. Tomorrow she will take another step toward the war they’ve both earned, in lost time and stolen pieces. Tomorrow she will become an agent of vengeance and wear it like a badge of honor.  She’s earned it.


	9. speech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as powers go, hers are only getting better.

As far as powers go, hers are only getting better.

She can smell an attack before it comes. Hear the stretch of a muscle as it tenses and releases. Feel the energy building before he strikes. But knowing she’s about to be attacked doesn’t mean she can always block the swing or duck in time. He’s getting better at masking his micro-movements, not telegraphing his attacks in the split-second before he makes them. She reconsiders telling him that, but she knows it’s for her benefit. If he can teach her to defend herself against even him, then she has a fighting chance in this war. And she won’t be left behind, so she needs to get up to speed. 

The energy that he exudes when they fight is bright. It’s stress relief for him. He enjoys it. Enjoys how he can move without worrying things well end in bloodshed and death. He’s teaching, not killing, not going for a mark. He shows her how to move with a throw instead of letting it slam into her; how to use her weight to throw an opponent off balance; how to take a hit with minimal damage. 

He’s partial to knives; stands behind her and tucks his hand under hers, ghosting her movements so she can learn how to throw and catch them, make them dance on her fingertips and roll over her knuckles. She’s half sure it’s an excuse for him to keep close to her, he’s been more physical since the bunker, looking for reasons to touch her. She doesn’t mind, even if the tension ratchets up and she drops a knife here or there, too focused on the heat of him against her back or his breath against her ear. But she can wait; the payoff will be worth it. 

Long-range guns are easy; her vision lets her see a target so clearly she doesn’t need the scope at all. She still has to get used to the reverberation of the sniper rifle, the weight of it, both metaphorical and physical. It’s the smaller guns, used up close, that she’s still figuring out. All in all, she prefers hand to hand; she can feel the energy inside her, how it builds and grows, when she’s fighting. The more she learns, the more she thinks it’s another side effect of her powers, that it’s not super strength, not exactly, but that she feeds off the energy in the room and uses it to put more power behind her attacks. She can taste it sometimes, like a crack of lightning on her tongue; it reminds her of her taser. 

He’s sweating, she can see it dripping down his skin, how it makes his shirt cling to his body. She is too; her skin is warm and damp and flushed. He tries not to focus on it, but she can feel the lust on the air, sprinkling things until he tries to push it back and focus on the lesson. 

Eventually, he’ll call it quits, tell her to set up the targets so they can have a little space and regroup. One day, he’s not going to stop, he’s going to keep coming, and she’s going to roll him on his back, straddle his hips, and release the tension in another, funner way. But not today. 

Today, he tosses her a bottle of water and grabs up a towel to swipe over his face. They’re staying in an old farm house this month. The owner’s have long moved on; the grass outside is long and yellow, and the energy she tastes in the air is old and musty, mostly travelers taking refuge for a night or two. But the farm house has a good roof, provides cover from the elements and any prying eyes. There aren’t any cameras for miles either, so they feel relatively safe. 

She finds her bag and takes a seat on the ground, rifling through it for a couple protein bars. She tosses him one that he catches reflexively. He likes the Peanut Butter Supremes; she’s partial to White Chocolate Raspberry. The only kind they have left are Banana Nut Muffin, so it’ll have to do. He’s not a fan, so she sees him grimace and wash it down with water after each bite. 

“We should plan our first big dinner,” she decides. 

He looks back, an eyebrow raised.

“When this is over, you and me, we’re going out, getting real food. Doesn’t have to be somewhere fancy. But somewhere good, at least.” She nods. “I was always a burger girl. The cheesier the better. Loaded up with pickles and tomatoes and crisp, green lettuce...” Her mouth waters at the memory. “Some fries, a milkshake, and I’m sold.” 

He wanders over, takes a seat in front of her, his legs crossed. “I don’t know what I liked. When I was... When they let me out, the food was tasteless, simple. Mush, mostly.”

“Gruel,” she says, scowling. “Well, none of that, never again. We’ll just have to find what you like, order everything on the menu.” 

“Yeah?” His lips twitch at her tenacity. “With whose money?” 

She grins. “So we fleece HYDRA after we take them out. They owe us. Won’t keep me up at night. Better than dining and dashing, too. So, really, it’s like our civil responsibility.” 

He chuffs out a snort, shakes his head and downs another drink of water. She watches his throat as he swallows; a little dribble of water works its way down his chin. 

Biting down on her lip, she turns her eyes away. “We can make it a week long event too. Visit a few different places, try everything until we know for sure what kicks your taste buds into action.” Leaning back, she plants her hands on the ground. “But burgers first. They’re a staple.” 

“A week sounds like a pretty long first date,” he muses.

“Only if you’re with the wrong person.” She looks back at him, half-smiling. “Worried you’ll get sick of me?” 

His expression is soft and open as he tells her. “No.” His brow furrows then. “Might be worried I won’t.” 

Darcy sits forward then, elbows on her knees. “I’m not going anywhere. You got someone else you need to meet up with?” 

“Can’t say I do.” 

“Good. Then that’s our plan... Step one: destroy HYDRA. Step two: go on a date.” 

He hums, fiddling with the cap on his water bottle. “What’re the rest of the steps?” 

She shrugs. “Don’t know yet. Making it up as we go.” 

His mouth twitches. “Solid plan.”

“You got a better one?” 

He shakes his head, lips stretching up at the corners. “Following you lead on this one, doll.” 

She flushes; she likes when he calls her that. Likes the drawl in his voice and the intimate familiarity she can taste in the energy coming off him. She better be careful, she thinks, or she might just get addicted to him. 

He’s watching her now, something uncertain edging at his mouth. “Could take some time,” he says. “Taking HYDRA apart.” 

“Good things usually do.” She tears off a bite of the protein part and chipmunks it, pressing it into her cheek as she says, “Plus, they’ve got that whole multiplying head thing. So we need to cauterize the necks before they grow back double. Which, I guess in this situation, is just be quick and efficient about it. Find all the pieces, take them out before they can recruit more.” 

“It’s a lot of pieces.” 

She takes a moment, chews on the protein bar; she’s not a big fan of Banana Nut either. She swishes water around her mouth and swallows it down. “Do I need to give a rousing war speech? Because the only one I have memorized is from Braveheart, and my Scottish accent is  _terrible_...”

He blinks at that, and she finds herself adding it to her mental list of things she’ll introduce him to when they re-enter normal society. She’s not exactly sure when that will be, or how they’ll fit, but she knows they’ll do it together, so it doesn’t scare her as much as it could. 

“No war speech,” he decides. “Just want you to be ready. It’s not going to be quick.” 

She hums, and then waits for his eyes to meets hers before she tells him, “I know.” When he doesn’t look convinced, she reaches for him, tucks the loose hair that’s fallen from his ponytail back behind his ear. “When you came for me, I’d already given up. I... I think I was waiting to die. Might’ve even wanted to, at that point.” 

His hand covers hers, presses her palm down against his cheek. 

“I was done. I didn’t think Jane or Thor were ever going to find me, didn’t think I could make it through much more of what they were doing. I-I could smell  _death_  sometimes, sour and rotten, and I think... I think it was  _me_.” Her breath hitches then, and she shakes her head as her eyes burn. 

“But then you were there... You got me out. And I don’t... I don’t know what happens after. I  _want_ to spend a week eating every food you can think of. I want to curl up on a couch with you and watch Braveheart and The Princess Bride and Harry Potter, none of which you recognize, but that’s fine. You can show me your movies too, black and white with all the singing and the dancing.” 

She swallows thickly. “That’s what I want. But... I know war isn’t simple, and we’re getting ready for a fight we might not walk away from. And I’m okay with that. Really, I am. I’d rather go down fighting, knowing that I took some of them with me, then live my life always looking over my shoulder, wondering if they’re hiding in the shadows somewhere.” 

She knows she’d feel them, that nothing and no one can hide from her anymore, but that’s not the point. The point is that they tried to ruin her, tried to make her into their weapon, tried to remove the best parts of her and replace them with what they wanted, and she won’t let that stand. “I don’t just  _want_ to fight, I  _need_  to,” she tells him. “So if it takes months or years or the rest of my life, I’m  _in_. I’m not walking away.” 

He takes a moment, stares at her searchingly, and then he nods, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Not a bad speech.” 

And she laughs, a wet, emotional, cracked noise. 

He pulls her forward, presses a kiss to her forehead, and then she’s on her back, her head cradled in his lap and his fingers stroking her hair. “Tell me the one from Braveheart...” 

She smiles, scrubs any lingering burn from her eyes, and clears her throat. “Okay, ready?” He nods. “‘ _I_ am  _William Wallace. And I see a whole army of my countrymen,_ here  _in defiance of tyranny... You’ve come to fight as free men, and_ _free man you are... What will you do with that freedom? Will you fight?’_ And the crowd boos, and one guy says,  _‘Fight? Against that? No! We will_ _run, and we will live.’_ And then Wallace says,  _‘Aye, fight and you may die. Run, and you’ll live, at least a while.... And dying in your beds, many years from now,_ _would you be willing to trade all the days, from this day to that, for_ _one chance,_ just one chance, _to come back here and tell_ _our enemies, that they may take our lives, but they’ll never take..._ our freedooom!’” She’s got a fist in the air, and she’s a little more excited than she probably needs to be, but she does love a good empowering speech.

He’s grinning at her, and the energy is light and warm and fuzzy around the edges. He strokes a thumb over her cheek. “You’re right, your accent’s awful.” 

She laughs, and swats his arm, but he catches her hand, and brings it up so her fingertips are resting against his lips. A breath leaves her on a sigh, heart shifting in her chest. And there’s that scent again, of him, and them, and the strings that bind them.

War is on the horizon, stinking of blood and rot, but here, right now, there is only them. 

She’ll revel in it while she can. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for anyone interesting, you can watch the **[freedom speech from braveheart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEOOZDbMrgE) on youtube.**


	10. parallels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Steve meets Jane Foster, she’s not at all what he expects.

The first time Steve meets Jane Foster, she’s not at all what he expects.

He’s actually looking for Maria. After she signed on with Stark Industries, he found her his easiest access point to what little is left of SHIELD, and he’ll take all the resources he can get at this point. He and Sam have been tracking down any and every lead that even vaguely smells of Bucky, but they’ve had no luck so far. 

A quick stop by Stark’s lab leads them to the science department, apparently Maria’s been spending a lot of her time helping Doctor Foster with something. While Steve’s never met the astrophysicist, he’s only heard good things from Thor. So he’ll admit he has an idea of who he expects to be meeting when he walks into the lab housing the woman who discovered inter-dimensional travel. 

What he finds is not the poised, fierce scientist that Thor had spoken so highly of. Instead, there is a harried woman, her hair unwashed, held up with various pens and pencils, wearing a t-shirt three sizes too large for her, mismatched slippers, and a pair of pajama pants with at least two coffee stains. 

Maria is her usual together self, inexplicably unmoved by Doctor Foster’s unkempt state. 

Steve trades a look with Sam, who shrugs, brows hiked, and they step further into the lab. 

“No, I’m onto something, I know I am,” Foster insists. 

“There’s no evidence that Darcy was showing any signs of energy control. It doesn’t fit with the five senses theory.” Arms crossed over her chest, she peers down at the information in front of her, frowning, and finally shakes her head. “I’m just not seeing it.” 

“One of her abilities is recognizing energy; she can tell that others are there or coming. They don’t explicitly state it. But here, look...” She reaches for and grabs up a wrinkled paper, torn and taped back together. “ _’Subject 12 shows signs of being able to recognize someone is approaching even when precautions are taken to block her sensory paths.’_ They plugged her ears, put a paste on her tongue and under her nose, and covered her eyes, and she was  _still_ able to tell they were coming toward her.” 

“That doesn’t mean energy. Plenty of people can sense when they’re not alone anymore.” 

“They were monitoring her though, they said that something happened with the machines, they started fritzing out, going fuzzy, like there was some kind interference. I-- I have other evidence, I just... It’s here, somewhere,” she says, looking out over the papers. “Just, I’m telling you, Maria, this is one of her powers. It just took longer to manifest.” 

Maria taps her fingers against her chin. “So what if it is? What do you do with it? Explain it to me.” 

“Stark says I can use his satellites, he’s given me full access through JARVIS. If I can get an idea of what kind of energy she gives out, I can look for it. I can use the satellites to try and find her energy source.”

“What if it’s not strong enough?” 

Foster winces. “Well, that’s the difficult part... From what I can tell, most of Darcy’s powers had to be triggered and from what I’ve read, the highest readings were always when she... when they’d...” She shifts then, her expression caught somewhere between angry and sad. “Something needs to happen, she needs to get her worked up, for the energy source to be recognizable, so it’ll stand out instead of blending in with everything else.” Her eyes dart around as she starts thinking, fiddling with a marker. "I think, if she’s triggered, I can find her...” 

“But in order to find her, you have to hope that something sets her off.” Maria turns to her then. “If you’re right about this, then the energy she gives off might not be friendly... It could hurt people, Jane. It could hurt  _her_.” 

“I know that!” she bites out, before sighing, and rubbing her hands over her face. “Look, I don’t want her to hurt anymore than she has, but we need to find her. We have no idea what the long term affects are of what’s been put inside her. It’s already changed things, and we don’t know how much change is coming. For all I know, the energy could grow to a point that it  _consumes_ her. But I can’t find her without her giving me some kind of signal, and this is as close as we’re going to get.” 

Maria stares at her a long moment, before finally nodding. “All right, so how are we going to do this? What do you need me to do?”

Steve chooses that moment to clear his throat, already feeling awkward for having eavesdropped on so much. He knows it isn’t right, but he’s already been blindsided by too many secrets and subterfuge, he doesn’t want to be hit with anymore. 

“Sorry to interrupt.” He looks between them. “Stark sent us this way. I was hoping to speak to you,” he directs at Maria. 

She nods, short and sharp, and steps out from behind the desk, scattered with paperwork. He pauses when he catches the HYDRA seal at the top, and takes a step forward. “Is this from the facility we raided?” he wonders, reaching for a paper. 

A hand lands on top of it sharply, keeping him from picking it up. He follows the arm up to a disgruntled Jane Foster. “There’s a system. Don’t touch anything.” 

He peers at her a long moment, recognizes that she won’t be backing down any time soon, and relents, releasing the paper and taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I just remember the facility. It was where they were keeping Bucky before... everything.” 

“Barnes wasn’t the only one they kept there.“ Maria turns to Doctor Foster and says, “I’ll be back shortly. We’ll discuss how you want to track the energy trail.” 

Foster nods, still eyeing Steve suspiciously, and then moves toward her white board, uncapping her marker with her teeth. 

Maria waves them out into the hallway, her back to the closed doors, and double checks on Foster before she looks back at them. “Sorry about that. She’s been... stressed.” 

“Stressed is an understatement,” Sam pipes up, frowning.

“Yeah, well, this time last year, her intern was taken by HYDRA. Jane contacted SHIELD, asked for their help, and... we all know how that ended.” 

Steve grimaces; he’s not immune to the guilt he feels for not recognizing the snake in the grass. “If I remember correctly, everyone in that facility was killed,” he reminds her. 

“By an unknown assailant.” She straightens her shoulders then and stares him in the eye. “I know you thought it was Sargent Barnes. I’m not dismissing the idea. But we also know he wasn’t in a good place, and there’s a chance he wouldn’t risk going back to the facility so soon after breaking the brainwashing.”

“So you think this woman, Foster’s intern, broke herself out, killed everyone in her way?” Sam asks. “She got that kinda training, or...?” 

“When HYDRA realized they couldn’t get much information out of her, they decided to hand her over to the science unit... She was experimented on, for months. They injected her with just about everything you can think of. Some of it nearly killed her, and some of it stuck.” Her brows hike as she shakes her head. “We’re still putting the pieces together. Some of her powers are straight forward. Heightened senses, all five of them. Others are more of a hypothesis than a proven fact.” 

Sam hums, arms crossed loosely. “So if she got out, why not come home?”

“Maybe for the same reason Barnes hasn’t. She’s not ready, not sure where she fits anymore, or, for all we know, she doesn’t know where home is.” 

“Or who to trust,” Steve muses, frowning. He’s staring in the lab, at the frantic scribbling of Jane Foster, and the picture of a pretty, smiling brunette, hung on the board by an E = mc 2 magnet. 

“Exactly.” Maria sighs then, looking tired, and rubs a hand over her forehead. “Anyway, we’ve been doing what we can to try and track her down, but we haven’t had much luck. Lewis has been laying low, so far as we can tell.” 

“Unless HYDRA rounded her up again,” Sam reminds them, grimacing sympathetically. “Could be an important asset.” 

“That’s if she got out,” Steve adds, turning back to them. “There’s a chance Bucky really did take out that facility. For all you know, they moved this woman in the chaos, trying to hold onto at least one of their projects...” 

“It’s something I’ve considered,” Maria admits. “She was still in her cell when the cameras went dark. Some of the scientists could’ve removed her while everyone else was dealing with whoever the perpetrator was.”

“Does  _she_ know that?” Sam nods his head toward the lab. Foster swats hair out of her eyes, irritated by the interruption, and keeps scrawling across the white board, equations Steve couldn’t begin to understand. 

“Jane is... tenacious. She doesn’t accept defeat easily. And even if HYDRA does have Darcy, if Jane can find a way to track her down... I wouldn’t want to be them. I think she’d storm the front doors and wipe them out just on sheer will alone.” 

Steve smiles faintly at that. “I’ve heard good things about her.” 

“She’s a good person. Smart, loyal, stubborn...” Maria looks back at the scientist with a fond expression. “We’re lucky she’s on our side, considering all that happened.” Looking back at them, she shakes off her mood. “I assume you’re here hoping I’ve got a new lead for you...?” 

“We were hoping,” he admits. 

“Well, you’re in luck. We found evidence that someone recently did some digging around an abandoned HYDRA hole in Kansas. Took food, some guns, didn’t linger long.” 

“Kansas,” he repeats, brow furrowed. 

Maria offers a faint quirk of her lips. “There’s no place like home.” 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at her dry tone. “You think it was him?” 

“I think there was a report filed in a small town on the Nebraskan border with a blown up SUV. Eight bodies in tac gear were found, and evidence of a home made bomb is what leveled them. Any footage from what little surrounding security footage they had goes dark about an hour before the explosion was reported my civilians.”

Sam nods. “So HYDRA tracked him down but he took them out before they could bring in...”

“Makes sense. There was a building a few blocks back from the explosion site; bullet casings were found outside of it. Local LEOs think that’s where things got started. Building was known for housing squatters. Barnes has probably been laying low, trying to stay off their radar.” 

Steve frowns. “If he’s as highly trained as they’re all saying, then he should be able to evade detection. So, how’d they find him...? What are we missing?” 

“Maybe this isn’t the first old HYDRA hole he’s hit though,” Sam suggests. “We don’t know all of ‘em, just what some of them coughed up when they were taken into custody... Could be more of ‘em and he’s going where’s familiar. They could be tracking his movements, narrowing down the most likely places he’s been hiding out.” 

Nodding, Steve looks back to Maria. “How old’s the lead?” 

“Older than I’d like. I only got word about Nebraska yesterday; cops there weren’t exactly keeping up on filing their paperwork, so JARVIS didn’t alert me about it until it popped up in his scanning system. Not sure how legal that is, but we’ll worry about that later.” She sighs, exhaustion showing again. "We’re stretched thin on bodies, so it took a bit for anybody to notice somebody had visited the bunker. We figured HYDRA agents on the run at first, but when things came in about Nebraska, we connected the dots.”

His shoulders slump. 

“Could still be a pattern there,” Sam says, unwilling to give up just yet. “We just gotta look for it.” He claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “It ain’t over yet.” 

Steve takes a deep breath, finds his revolve, and nods. To Maria he says, “Thank you for your help. It looks like you’ve already got your hands full. Rebuilding SHIELD, working for Stark, helping Doctor Foster out...” 

She chuffs out a faint laugh. “Yeah, well... I ever tell you I learned to juggle in high school...? Muscle memory.”

A smile tugs at his mouth. “For what it’s worth, I do appreciate it.” 

“Hey, I get it.” She tips her head toward Foster. “SHIELD failed her once, I’m doing what I can to correct that.” 

Steve nods solemnly. He knows how that feels; knows what it’s like to struggle with demons, awake or asleep, asking every ‘what if’ possible and coming up with only regrets. “I hope you find her.” 

“I hope so too.” She nods at each of them. “Good luck. I’m let you know if anything else comes my way.” 

He tips his chin down in farewell, but lingers, watching as Foster waves Maria over to her board and starts going over her theory. Her arms wave around wildly and there’s exhaustion and worry crowding her expression. It’s clear that everything that’s been happening over the last year has left her caught in the undertow. He can relate.

“It’s a hard thing, living with the weight of guilt... You let it get too heavy, it’ll smother you,” Sam says, stepping up beside him. 

Steve looks over at him knowingly. “Subtle.” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Not every kernel of wisdom is me trying to counsel you. But I  _am_ your friend, and I’ve seen how this has affected you.” He shakes his head. “I’m not saying we should give up. I  _am_ saying that sometimes you gotta take a step back, make sure you’re not sacrificing yourself in the process.” 

He looks back to Foster meaningfully. “Maybe you look better because you’ve got your fancy serum keeping you in shape, but, make no mistake... Everything she’s got happening on the outside, you’ve got on the inside.” With that, he claps Steve’s shoulder, and starts down the hallway. “Us regular humans need food and sleep. I want a solid eight before you come knockin’ down the door demanding we load up and hit the ground runnin’,” he calls as he leaves. 

Steve doesn’t bother answering, he’s staring at Jane Foster, the tight set of her shoulders, the divot between her brows, the raw focus in her eyes, and the stubborn set of her jaw. She’s running on fumes, it’s clear to see, but she’ll run until she collapses. He knows because he will too. 

So even if he knows Sam is right, he can’t fault her for it. And even if it should be a warning, a sign that he should slow down, he chooses to ignore it. Because Sam was right. He  _did_ have a serum running through his veins, which meant he could keep this up a lot longer. 

So he will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “ _There’s no place like home_ ” - reference to The Wizard of Oz
> 
>  **LEOs** \- Law Enforcement Officers


	11. human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stop fidgeting.”

"Stop fidgeting.”

He grunts, lips pursed in what’s all too close to a pout. “It’s fine,” he complains.

“It needs cleaning.” His elbow balances on her knee as she careful cleans in between the plates of his arm. He has to shift them, up and down, so she get between them. 

The way they live isn’t exactly good for his arm; it’s not clean by any means. They spend many of their nights sleeping on the ground, coiled around each other. He won’t let her wrap while he’s sleeping because they might be attacked and he needs full movement. She gets that, but it means that, eventually, they have to sit down and clean it all out. 

She’s got an idea of why it makes him uncomfortable. He’s told her about his experiences with the chair; its his most frequent nightmare. Waking up in a cold sweat, terrified, a scream caught in his throat. She doesn’t tell him she can smell his tears or hear the way his bones shake inside him. She just brings his head down to her lap and waits for him to tell her what he’d dreamt of. He feels better when he can put words to it, otherwise it festers and keeps him awake and on edge.

“Tell me a story,” she says to distract him, eyes focused on the plates of his bicep. She always starts with his fingers, lays them out on her knee while she goes over each one, and works along his hand and wrist. But the higher she climbs, the more tense he gets. 

“Kinda story you wanna hear?” he asks, voice pitched low, his back tense. 

She rubs a hand across his shoulders soothingly. “I don’t know. Tell me about when you were a kid, something good you remember.” 

It takes him a little while; he’s more prone to remembering the hard stuff, but they’ve been working on that. She tells him her good stories, about growing up with her mom and her internship with Jane, tasing Thor, living in London. She tells him about the dog she had when she was a little girl and how he never missed an opportunity to sneak out of the yard and go on some little adventure around the neighborhood. 

His stories, what few he can remember, are usually about Steve. About what a “little shit” he was, always getting into trouble, and how even if he couldn’t take on whoever he’d challenged, it never stopped him from trying. There’s a weird sense of affection and misery that infuses his voice; like he’s not quite sure how he feels about ‘the man on the bridge.’ 

It’s not Steve he chooses to talk about today though, it’s his mother. Winnifred Barnes. 

“Everybody she liked called her Freddie,” he says, his voice soft and wistful. “She was a firecracker. Never took lip from nobody. Cuff the back of my head if I even  _looked_ like I was gonna talk back...” His mouth kicks up at the corner. “She would’a liked you.” 

“Sounds like I’d like her too,” she muses. 

His eyes are bright and there’s something relaxed that falls over him. “She ran a tight ship, had to keep all us kids in line. And then there was Steve, always showing up with a fat lip or a black eye. She’d just shake her head, tell me to clean him up.” His brows furrow then. “She didn’t want me to go to war... Most moms wouldn’t, I guess. But I remember her tellin’ me not to go, said she’d hide me if she had to. She didn’t give a shit if it wasn’t honorable, she just...” His voice catches then. “She didn’t want to bury her boy.” He digs his hand into his hair then, fingers coiling around his hair and tugging. “Must’a broke her heart.” 

Darcy can only imagine it. That feeling Winnifred got when she’d received not one but two letters telling her that her son had given his life for his country. The first time he was rescued and found alive was a miracle, the second and final letter must’ve hit her like a cold fist to the gut. Darcy thought of her own mother then, getting a call from Jane or some robot at SHIELD, telling her that her daughter had been taken and there was little to no chance she’d be recovered. She imagines her mom falling to her knees, begging them, begging anyone, to tell her it’s not true. And then wonders if she even knows, or if they’d cover it up as long as they could. She wonders if a grief soaked Lauren Lewis is sitting back home, in the childhood bedroom of her only daughter, clutching her old teddy bear with the raggy paw, surrounded by baby pictures. It makes her heart hurt. 

Shifting closer to him, she hugs an arm around his waist, and presses a kiss to his shoulder, over scar tissue and warm skin. 

“I thought about it... Thought about what she said. About hiding somewhere, waiting out the war. Couldn’t get over the shame of it though. So I put the suit on, said my goodbyes... Never saw ‘em again.” He sniffs then, rubs his hand over his mouth. “Remember thinking when I was laying on that table, when they were putting that shit in me, that it was better to be a coward than whatever they were makin’ me into.” A tear trips down his cheek, hangs off the end of his quivering chin. “Had no fuckin’ idea,” he laughs darkly. 

Darcy’s hand swept over his back, her cheek on his shoulder. She leaves the cleaning tools in her lap and reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ear, rubbing her thumb over the hinge of his jaw. “You weren’t a coward,” she tells him. “War is  _terrifying_. Wanting to hide, wanting to  _live_ , that’s not cowardice, it’s just... It’s  _human_.” 

“Yeah, well, n’ case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not all human anymore,” he mutters, grinding his teeth. 

Shaking her head, she drops a hand to his metal forearm and squeezes. “You think this makes you any less human?” She stares up at him searchingly. “It’s still a part of you. Just because it’s made out of nuts and bolts doesn’t mean it’s not  _you_.” 

He grimaces. “It’s a tool. It’s  _their_ tool.”

“No, it’s not. It’s an arm. It’s  _your_  arm. It’s not a tool and neither are you.” She touches his chin. “Hey. Look at me.” 

He takes a moment, but finally turns to meet her eyes. 

“They want you to think you’re theirs. They want you to think you’re just a soldier, but you’re not. You’re a man. You’re a person. You’re flesh and blood and metal, and that’s fine. It’s better than fine.” She reaches for his cybernetic hand and lifts it up. “It doesn’t matter why they gave it to you or what they wanted out of it, it’s  _yours_. You used it to take them down and to break me out;  _you_ choose what you want it to be. You want it to be yours, you want to use it for the right reasons, then do that. But don’t let them make you think you matter any less than anyone else. Don’t let them get in your head. They’ve spent too much time there already.” 

He stares at her, his eyes still red-rimmed and his lashes damp, but his mouth is soft and the way he’s looking at her isn’t full of self-loathing anymore. He turns his hand over, folds their fingers together, and holds on. “Stand by what I said. Ma would’a loved you.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” She shifts forward, presses a kiss to his temple, lingering a moment, and then sits back. “Come on, I need to finish cleaning it out.” 

He nods, lets her hand go and drops his to her knee. He’s not as stiff now, his eyes on her instead of anywhere but his arm. He does that sometimes. Just watches her. Sometimes its curiosity, other times it’s something else, something heavier and warmer. She can smell that rich, layered affection he has for her mixed with a light, floaty feeling of relief, a burden lifted. 

When she’s done with his arm, he stretches it forward and all around, tests how the plates move, and nods at her. She packs the supplies away and stands, dusting off the back of her pants absently. 

The hug is unexpected, but not unwanted. He tugs on her hand, pulls her over to where he’s standing, and wraps his arms around her waist. They’re front to front, his face buried against her neck, tucked in her hair. Her hands curl around his shoulders, smooth on one side, raised scar tissue on the other, and she closes her eyes. 

She sinks into the buzzing and popping energy that comes off of him and gets absorbed into her. It’s warm and blue and crackling with life. Coiling up inside of her, it fuses to her own yellow and white energy, threading through her veins, sending her pulse skittering. She can feel it like a shot of espresso, lighting her up and giving her a boost of  _something_. Or maybe that’s just him. Maybe he energizes her, sinks into her bones and makes her feel alive. And then that hybrid energy crawls out of her, reaches out, and sinks back into him. Just as she’s wondering if he can feel it, he shivers, his body going stiff and then relaxing and pressing against hers a little more firmly. 

She doesn’t know what it means, not really, but she likes it, like how it feels, likes how he goes boneless against her, relaxed and content. She lets her hands run down his back and focuses on the sound of his steady heartbeat. His fingers lazily stroke over her lower back, cool metal on a sliver of skin between the top of her jeans and the end of her shirt. 

Eventually, they’ll have to pull apart, but she’s happy to hold on for as long as she can. She imagines that’ll be a common theme between them. 


	12. choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know what you seek, Old Friend, but you will be disappointed.”

“I know what you seek, Old Friend, but you will be disappointed.”

Thor enters the observatory, but stands at a distance, tense and frowning. “Then you know where Lady Darcy is.”

“I do,” Heimdall answers, bowing his head. 

“Then why do you withhold the information so calmly? Have you not seen what she has been through? What  _Jane_ has suffered in Darcy’s absence?” 

Heimdall turns, his expression grave. “I have. I admit, my focus has been spread thin. There are many realms and many troubles. I had thought, at first, that the people you trusted were true. I did not spend my time watching the people of SHIELD. I regret this. Had I seen corruption in them, I would have told you.”

Thor sighs, a great, heavy, gust of wind, his shoulders slumping. “There are many fires to be doused in Midgard, we cannot control them all. But this, with Jane, with Darcy... It is not duty that drives me to ask this of you, it is desperation, Heimdall... Darcy is a good person. She was kind to me, and she is a dear friend to Jane.” He shakes his head. “Jane suffers the loss of her, drives herself to exhaustion with guilt. Can you not see how important this is?” 

“I see it. And were the circumstances different, I would not hesitate to tell you of Lady Darcy’s whereabouts.” 

“Then  _why?_ ” His voice trembles with anger and the warning rumble of thunder. “Give me reason for your silence,” he demands.

“When first I found the Lady Darcy, she was trapped. Strung up on a wall, little life or fight left in her. I’d feared her loss imminent... But then another arrived, destroyed her enemies, tore her from her chains, and carried her to safety.”

“Another?” Thor’s brow furrows, his mouth set in a stony line. “Who is this other?” 

Heimdall ignores his question. “I had wondered if Lady Darcy would seek out the Lady Jane or your comrades, the team you call Avengers, but she did not. She chose to stay hidden, to stay with the man who saved her. And even now, they stay bound, vowing to take vengeance on those that hurt them.” He lifts his chin then and meets Thor’s weary eyes. “You ask me why I will not tell you where she is, the answer is simple... She does not want to be found. And her will, her choices, have been stripped from her enough. I will not add to her loss of agency. I  _cannot_.” 

Thor is steady; he peers at Heimdall for the truth, and reads it openly in his face. He sighs then, relaxing some. “She is safe with this man? This savior?” 

“They are safe with each other. They take comfort in their similar circumstances. He has shown that he only wants to protect her, to work as partners in their journey.”

“And is she... Is she well?” 

“She is troubled. The weight of what has been done to her has changed her in ways that cannot be undone. But she is healing and growing.” His eyes grow distant then, stars and galaxies filling them. Far from where he stands, he sees the Lady Darcy and her compatriot in an abandoned warehouse. 

“They train now. She grows stronger each day. In mind and body, but in power too. She will be a formidable enemy, one not to take lightly.”

The Lady Darcy is damp with sweat and dusted in dirt as she and James Barnes wrestle across the floor. As soon as she finds any leverage, he counters it, but she’s quick to find another foothold. She has come a long way from the beginning and, in many ways, reminds him of his dear sister Sif. Unwilling to accept the role that others thrust upon her, meeting any enemy she faces with the confidence that she can and will do what she needs to. 

“And you are certain of this partner of hers? He is not like SHIELD, an enemy disguised as an ally?” 

“Nay.” He shakes his head. “He is no enemy to her. His hatred of the faction known as HYDRA runs even deeper than her own. He would risk life and limb for her. I have every faith that they will continue their work and reach their goal.” 

“And what goal do they seek?” 

“What goal does any warrior seek? A won battle and a slain enemy.” 

James Barnes pins her then, hands caught in his. He doesn’t go for her wrists, he knows the implications there; instead, his palms press to her own, and his body weighs heavy atop hers. His objective is to restrain rather than to hurt, but there is a potency, an intimacy between them that cannot be ignored. 

“Surrender,” Barnes tells her, grinning. 

And she laughs, her fierce frown splitting into a smile.

The tension of the moment breaks on the lighthearted tenderness of two people edging toward lovers. 

Heimdall draws away then, turns his gaze elsewhere, and finds the frazzled Jane Foster, working out the algorithm she believes will find the energy source that Lady Darcy exudes. While he knows what drives her, he worries that the reunion will not be as any of them hope. 

Pulling back to the present, he returns his focus to Thor and meets his friend’s troubled gaze. “The Lady Jane will be disappointed. I am sorry for that.” 

“I had hoped the answer would be easier to find, but it was more complicated than I expected...” Thor smiles faintly, his burden still heavy. "I fear that is always the way.” 

“My intentions are just, though they may not feel it.” 

“Nay. You’re right. Lady Darcy has been through much. She deserves to make these choices for herself. I only... I wish I had known earlier, that I could have intervened before she was harmed.” 

“We all bear guilt here. You were doing your duty to the King, as was I, and we laid trust in the wrong people. It is a mistake we can learn from.” 

“Aye.” Thor nods then, before turning his gaze back toward the bridge, to Asgard. “It would seem our King has many duties for me of late. Some, I admit, I do not see the necessity of.” 

“It is not ours to question the King,” Heimdall answers, but meets Thor’s gaze steadily. “But if any had reason or right to, it would be you.”

Thor nods then, smiling faintly. “As always, your counsel does me well, Heimdall.” 

He bows his head accordingly, but pauses a moment. “May I inquire as to how you will inform Lady Jane of the situation?” 

Thor frowns then. “Father has requested I meet with him to discuss certain matters. Perhaps I will bide my time for now and find a way to break it to her gently when I am able to return.” 

“She will not be welcoming to the idea.” 

“No, she won’t. But I believe you’re right. If Darcy does not want to be found and she is with safe company, then perhaps we should abide her wishes.” 

Heimdall hums agreeably. 

“Thank you, Old Friend. Your honesty is always refreshing, and well needed.” 

He nods and turns back to gaze upon the the realms in front of him. He hears Thor’s footsteps as he leaves and then finds his attention returned to Midgard, where the Captain Rogers and Sam, son of Wil, are going over leads. 

Soon, he knows, all will be reunited. He just hopes that Lady Darcy and James Barnes will be ready.


	13. alarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy blames a lack of sleep.

Darcy blames a lack of sleep.

It’s been three days and the nightmares are worse than ever. There’s an itch under her skin, a warning she doesn’t understand; it tells her to be careful, to stay sharp. But without sleep, her senses aren’t up to par. Sometimes they work, but they feel like they’re ratcheted on high. She can hear insects in the ground and the batting wings of a bird, turned up so loud it gives her headaches. Other times, she can taste the earth, the wood rot in the walls, smell the powder on a moth’s wings. It’s too much, and it’s clawing at her. The energy inside her stretches thin, like a wire pulled to straining.

He tries to help; wraps himself around her so she can surround herself with his smell and taste and sound, and it helps, sometimes. But sometimes it’s just not enough. She knows she needs to just get past the paranoia and get some sleep, but she can’t. As soon as she falls asleep, all she sees is white coats and needles, metal cuffs and cold eyes. 

His worry is palpable; he keeps looking at her, checking on her, and she can smell his unease, feel his concern. Her temples throb with the overload. 

“We should wait,” he says while she gets their bags together. 

“We put it off yesterday,” she reminds him. “We need to get supplies and move on. We’ve been here too long already.” She looks over at him reassuringly. “Look, maybe if we go somewhere else, things will calm down. It might just be this place; the energy is off, it’s screwing me up...” 

He frowns, still unsure, but nods. “All right.” 

She can feel his eyes on her back, but she’s too tired to spend much more time convincing him. They have a warehouse to raid and supplies to get and then they’re hopefully leaving this place and her sensory overload in the dust. 

The warehouse isn’t far and they break in easily. The security surrounding the place is paltry at best; one guard at the front gate that does hourly rounds. They scale the fence out of view of the security cameras and use a few crates to climb up and through an open window. Pallets fill the place, placed on large shelving units, holding plastic wrapped goods of all shapes and sizes. 

They case the place from the top of a tall stack of merchandise. She puts him on canned food and dried goods, which is on one end of the warehouse, while on the other side, she takes water, protein bars, and medical supplies. They’ve each gotten scraped up during their training regiments, so having clean swabs and wraps are important. 

“Meet in the middle, raid the clothing?” she asks, looking over at him. 

He’s still frowning, and she reaches out to cover his hand. “I’ll be fine. Really.” 

He rubs his thumb over her knuckles and nods. 

Checking the watch on her wrist, she says, “We’ve got 56 minutes before he starts his rounds. Get as much as you can, but don’t strain yourself.” She stares at him seriously.

He rolls his eyes, grunts rather than agrees, and then shifts himself forward and leaps off the towering boxes to land in a perfect crouch.

“Show off,” she mutters, before scaling her way down and jumping off at a more normal height. 

They split up then, and start making their way toward their ends of the warehouse. She has two duffle bags on her shoulder while he’s got three. Walking down the aisles, she finds herself looking for anything else they might need that they hadn’t thought of. Sometimes she likes to lift a bag of chips or a couple chocolate bars. It’s good to have something other than the straightforward food they have, built more for sustenance than taste. 

She stops at one crate and digs out toothpaste and new toothbrushes. The ones they have are getting rough. She picks up deodorant and a razor for him too; he’s been keeping his cheeks smooth lately. Sometimes she misses the bite of his stubble on her skin, scraping her shoulder while they sleep or her cheek when they hug. She finds elastics too; she always loses them and since there’s two of them tying their hair back, they seem to disappear even faster. 

It’s a strange feeling, stealing as they are, but it works. They only take what they need and it’s not like the big business owners are going to feel the dent in their inventory. 

She finally makes her way over to the protein bars and loads up on them, digging around for their favorites. She moves onto water then; he’d expressed a dislike for anything flavored, so she snickers as she bypasses it and sticks with the no-name spring water. She’s making her way through the medical supplies when she feels it. 

A nervous energy, mixed with anticipation. It’s not him; she knows his energy as well as her own. This is unfamiliar. And there’s...  _two_. Which means it’s either the guard, and he called in back up, or it’s someone else. Having seen the guard, she’d put money down that he would call in the police rather than face them himself. He wasn’t the hero type. And the taste she’s getting off of them is something else. There’s something hearty in the air that she can’t quite put her finger on. And she can feel the stretch and flex of muscle; a lot of muscle. 

Darcy drops the swabs into the bag and starts moving, following the scent. 

Her steps are quiet. 

(“ _You’ve gotta move like a shadow. Quiet as a mouse. Blend into the noise around you, let it cover you, make your body light.”)_

Her senses, when they choose to cooperate, make it so she can track anyone, but sometimes she forgets that trained agents, if they’re really good, can track her just as well. So she needs to be better, quieter, faster. 

(“ _Observe first. Never attack until you’re sure you have the upper hand_.”) 

She sniffs out the other person; his smell isn’t quite so strong. He’s cool air and precipitation; sunlight breaking through the clouds; a strong wind rattling tree branches. She’d like if it she wasn’t sure he was an enemy. His nerves aren’t as frayed either; he’s a different kind of nervous. There’s a thread of fear there, not nearly as strong as it could, or should, be. 

(“ _And when you do._..”)

They don’t speak, but she can hear the air move as they make hand gestures to each other. Definitely not guards. She can hear the dust on the ground move with each of their steps. Their heartbeats just a little quicker than normal. And there’s the familiar scent of gun oil dousing the air, so they’re definitely armed. 

(“ _Go quick and quiet_...”)

She tracks them to where they’re moving down an aisle, boxed TVs on either side. They don’t have their guns out, but they’re in easy reach. The one with the loud smell, that tastes of ice and dirt, he’s tall, blond, and broad. He walks like a soldier, tense and focused. He’s all muscle and he wears it well. The other one, a head shorter than his partner, constantly keeps his eyes moving. She crosses the mouth of the aisle and ducks out of view just as he turns around, his eyes narrow. He can feel her, feel eyes on him; suspicion wafts from him. 

(“ _That way_...”)

She moves down the aisle to their right, quickening her steps to get ahead of them. Hooking herself around a corner, she feels energy and adrenaline rushing through her. She takes a moment to search for his familiar blue energy and finds him still busily filling bags with cans of food. She can almost feel the wisp of his hair slipping from behind his ears to brush his cheeks. She inhales deep, takes strength from his presence, and then focuses. 

(“ _They never see you comin_ ’.”)


	14. impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as they breach the end of the aisle, Darcy attacks.

As soon as they breach the end of the aisle, Darcy attacks. 

She kicks out, lands a hit to the shorter one’s knee, feels it crunch under her heel, and slams her first into his cheek, sending him sprawling to the ground. He collapses with a shout, cursing under his breath. She doesn’t pause before she plants one foot down and swings her leg up, catching the tall one with a sharp kick to the sternum. 

He stumbles back in surprise and she rocks on her heels before rushing forward. She uses his shock against him, lunges directly at him so he’s forced to catch her, and then throws herself sideways, pulling him with her. He rolls into it, but she gets her feet under her, tucks them against his stomach, and pushes him off, so he’s thrown up and over, crashing against a wall of stacked crates. They splinter upon impact and he tumbles to the ground. 

Rolling herself back, Darcy kicks herself up and back onto her feet.

The first guy is dragging himself up with a box, his hand digging his gun out while he takes the pressure off his injured knee. 

She grabs a box off the shelf and flings it at him, catching his hand and forcing his gun to scatter. 

Turning back then, she faces Blonde and Brawny. He’s got his jaw set and a fierce look in his eyes. But just as he’s falling into a fight position, he stops and squints at her, confused recognition painting his face. 

She uses his momentary distraction to her advantage and takes two blades out from the back of her belt, flipping them over the backs of her hands and catching them in her palms. 

He blinks, seeming distracted by the move, and she lunges forward, swiping at his chest. He jumps backwards, avoiding the sharp edge, but she continues after him, swinging her knives, violent and precise. He stumbles, bumping into a pallet that’s sticking out from the rest. She jumps into the air, double kicks him in the chest, and twists herself into a cartwheel, landing with one leg bent, calf on the ground. 

He’s on the ground, but up just as quick, and she grinds her teeth, sneering at him. Considering how hard he’s landed, she’s a little surprised he’s shaking it off so easily.

“Wait, wait,” he says, holding up his hands defensively; he’s panting a little, holding himself a little looser and not so tensed for attack. 

His eyes cut over her shoulder and his chin moves minutely, discouragingly. 

Darcy sees it; she turns at the waist and throws one knife. The other man is lucky, he manages to duck, but the blade still skims his cheek. He swipes at the dribble of blood before grimacing and pulling a knife of his own. 

She grins and can feel a ripple of exasperated agitation run through him. 

“Sam, no!” the blonde guy yells. “Listen, hey, we are not the enemy here. Your name is Darcy, right? Darcy Lewis?” 

She shifts her head to look at the blond man, an eyebrow raised. 

“You’re the one Jane Foster is looking for,” he says, staring at her searchingly. 

Darcy goes cold, her eyes narrowed. Was that supposed to impress her? As if every HYDRA agent worth their salt wouldn’t have read up on her and her affiliation with Jane? She bares her teeth and attacks with more vigor then. She throws a punch, but he blocks it with his forearm. She follows it quickly with a kick to his jaw and feels his lip split open, blood spraying her boot. She keeps coming then, feels each blow, fist and foot, land with force, impacting flesh hard enough that she can feel blood vessels popping. Energy builds up inside her, lets her hit harder, faster, and she can feel as each blow has maximum impact. 

Stumbling backwards, he blocks but doesn’t fight back, even as the edge of her blade, still clutched in her fingers, drags over his forearm. 

“Darcy, stop! Please! Look, I— I don’t want to hurt you!” 

“Funny,” she says, before she jumps to the left, hooks her foot on a metal hold, and leaps at him. Catching one arm around his neck, she tucks her leg into his elbow and pins his arm to his side, foot hooked around his back and tucked against his opposite side. “Because I  _really_ wanna hurt you.” 

He reaches for her arm, grabs onto it, and pulls. “Darcy, you have to— listen— to me.” 

Darcy presses her knife to his jugular and feels him go still. “I think I’ve heard enough.” 

She hears the cock of a gun then and raises her head to see his partner— “Sam” —pointing it at her, his expression grim. 

“I don’t want to poke holes in your plan here, lady, but you really think killing Captain America is the best idea?” 

Darcy stills, her brows furrowed. She looks down at the man beneath her, but returns her gaze quickly to Sam. “Prove it.” 

“What? You don’t recognize him? That mug was all over every station when he was taking SHIELD down. Where were you?” 

She presses the knife down against his throat a little tighter. “Being held captive and experimented on for shits and giggles. Excuse me if I’m not up to date on what some asshole Avenger looks like.” 

“All right, you're right, that was in poor taste, my bad," Sam soothes

She can smell the stress and worry on him, but he’s trying to create a rapport, to act like things aren’t as dire as they are. “You reek of worry,” she spits at him. “I can feel your nerves sparking...” She looks down. “If he’s really the Red, White and Blue superhero you say he is, he’s survived a lot worse than me.” 

“Smell us, or sense us, or whatever it is you do,” the so-called Steve Rogers huffs out. “Doctor Foster said you had powers, heightened senses. You can tell we’re being genuine.” 

Darcy frowns, looking between them quickly, and then directs her attention to the man she’s piggybacking on. “Who are you?” 

“Steven Grant Rogers. I was born July 4, 1918 to Sarah and Joseph Rogers. I  _am_ Captain America.” 

Darcy hesitates, not just because she can smell his honesty, but also because she can feel blue energy coming from the next aisle. He’s there. He’s heard. And he’s gone completely still. He’s torn; he’s not sure what to do or how to react. She wants to tell him it’s okay, to give her a minute to figure out how to deal with this. They haven’t mentioned him, maybe they don’t know he’s here. She wills him to stay hidden and feels a shift in the air, like he’s heard her and is nodding.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she says to Rogers. 

“We get that a lot,” Sam answers her lightly. His gun is still up, she notes, but then, her knife is still pressed to Captain America’s throat. 

And then there’s another gun cocking; this one at her back, and Darcy looks over her shoulder to see a woman, red haired and blank-faced. 

“Let me guess,” Darcy muses. “Black Widow.” 

The woman smirks, tipping her head vaguely. “And you’re Darcy Lewis. We’ve been looking for you.” 

“Natasha?” Steve chokes out, shifting to try and face her.

Darcy digs her knee against his ribs to keep him still. He grunts, but stops.

'Natasha' snorts.  “Think you might be losing your touch in your old age, Steve.”

Darcy ignores her quip in favor of asking, “ _We?_ ” 

A second woman appears then, dark hair and bright blue eyes. She has her gun out but not trained on Darcy, instead she’s taking in the situation and frowning. “Rogers,” she greets.

He sighs. “Hill.” 

“Quite the party you’ve got here.” 

“Didn’t mean to step on your toes,” he answers. “Thought I’d find someone else.” 

Darcy keeps her eyes down, refuses to look at the adjacent aisle lest it give him away, but  but she can feel him moving, listening, every muscle tensed, one hand on his gun, the other on a knife. But he waits; one word and he’ll show himself, intervene and get her out, she knows it. She doesn't want him to. If he can stay out of sight and she can get out of this, then they can get out of here without anyone knowing he was there.

Hill hums, and then turns her gaze up toward Darcy. She touches the comm in her ear and says, "Looks like we  _do_ need your help. Come inside.” 

Darcy stiffens then, her eyes narrowing at each of the two women. They’re steady, heartbeats calm and no trace of anger wafting off of them. Natasha is a little more tense, even if she doesn’t look it on the outside. Darcy can feel her apprehension and her eyes are constantly searching for any sign that Darcy’s going to plunge the knife into Rogers’ neck. 

“Miss Lewis, I’m Agent Hill,” the dark-haired woman says. “I’ve been working with Jane Foster to try and track you down for some time now.” She tucks her gun back into her thigh holster and holds both hands up to show she means no harm. 

“Agent,” she repeats darkly. “You’re SHIELD.” She spits the agency's name with all the vitriol it deserves.

“SHIELD was disbanded,” Natasha says; she seems calm, but her heartbeat hitches. “We were compromised. We’re starting over fresh, clean. Nobody here has ties to HYDRA.” 

“Right. I’ll take your word for it, complete stranger I’ve never met before,” Darcy scoffs. 

“Maybe not ours, but someone you trust,” Hill suggests. 

And Darcy can feel it then. She can feel desert sand and strawberry Poptarts, the corners burnt. Her throat goes dry and her eyes sting. She’s not ready. The full force of just how  _not_ ready she is swamps her like a cold sweat. She can’t do it, can’t face Jane, not yet. Her body starts to shake; exhaustion, adrenaline, fear and anticipation all rolling together. She can hear the hurried steps, the quickened heartbeat, smell the floral shampoo. Her fingers flex on the knife. 

“Darcy?” Rogers asks, his tone wary. 

She feels caged; feels the walls closing in on her, and the panic makes her senses stronger, overwhelmingly so. She can smell everything in the warehouse at once, feel six other heartbeats banging alongside her own, hear the blood rushing in their veins, the air filling their lungs, the dust particles moving through the air. 

She feels a ripple of energy rush through, so hot it almost burns, and then it  _releases_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played around with the fight between Darcy and Steve a few times, but ultimately, he’s holding back. He recognizes Darcy from his run-in with Jane and knows what’s been done to her. And, unconsciously, she reminds him of Bucky now, so he doesn’t want to hurt her, which is why she keeps getting the upper hand. That’s not to say she isn’t well trained, but Steve’s been doing this a lot longer. Her powers do give her some advantage though, so he'll be feeling those bruises for a while. ;)
> 
> Also, I think I previously told a reviewer that Natasha wouldn't be along for the ride, but I lied. She was with Maria and Jane, since Maria wanted back-up.


	15. reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a valve’s been turned, white and yellow energy pulses off of Darcy.

Like a valve’s been turned, white and yellow energy pulses off of Darcy. 

The pressure behind it is hard enough that it sends Natasha, Hill, and Sam crashing to the ground. It also hits the stands on either side of them, tips them over until they hit the next row and the next after that, causing a domino effect of metal and merchandise crashing. 

She searches for his energy and relief floods her as she feels him moving, ducking out of harm’s way.

Darcy unhooks her leg from Rogers’ arm, pushes herself off his back and lands on her feet, even as her knees shake and her nerves snap. She circles around him, meets his curious, confused eyes, and keeps backing up. 

“Stay away from me,” she tells him, tells all of them. 

And when she feels the shift in the air, of Natasha reaching for her gun, Darcy throws her knife, pinning the sleeve of her leather jacket to the pavement, just out of reach of her gun. Natasha stares back at her, brows furrowed thoughtfully.

Darcy doesn’t like it; the weight of them all looking at her, the new power that just manifested. It’s all too much. She turns to run, right before she hears it, the cracked and hopeful, “ _Darcy?”_

She stumbles to a stop, but she can’t turn around. Eyes closed, she focuses on Jane’s rabbit-fast heart, the sweat on her palms, the tears collecting in her eyes. 

“Darcy,  _please_ …” 

Panic builds up inside her, a ripple of energy humming low in her belly, making her fingertips tingle and her pulse race. 

As if he can feel her turmoil, he answers it, ghosting into view to stand right in front of her. The steady weight of his presence is like a security blanket; warm, heavy, and protective. 

The whole room grows thick with shock and tension.

“ _Bucky?_ ” Steve asks, his voice pitched high and hopeful. 

His hand settles on her hip, tugs her forward. Comfort washes over her, relief hitting her hard. Her eyes open and raise to meet his, staring down at her searchingly. She can feel his nervousness; taste his worry and his fear. She presses a hand to his heart reassuringly, and feels his energy sift into her, join with her own, and then drift back into him. 

Sam leans up against a crate, looking between them, his brows arched. “Explains a lot,” he mutters. 

Darcy turns to look at him, and then pivots so she’s facing the others.

Her back presses against his front, covering him, while she eyes Natasha, who’s gotten free and palmed her gun again, and Agent Hill, who has a cut on her cheek and is looking warily between everyone. 

Jane makes her way forward, coming to a stop next to Rogers. Their faces are mirror images of each other, a little slack jawed and a lot desperate. 

Darcy wants to turn around, tell him they can leave, run and never look back. But she doesn’t trust these people, can’t leave him unguarded in any way, so she keeps facing forward, eyeing all of them with suspicion. She slides a hand back to touch his, feels his fingers slide between her own, and doesn’t miss how every single one of them notices it. 

It’s Rogers who takes the initiative. “Bucky, I… It’s Steve. Do you… Do you remember me?” 

Darcy can feel his breathing pick up, his hand flexing in hers. She shifts herself back to steady him and deflects the attention back to herself. “How’d you find us?”

“You… You send off an energy trail,” Jane says, shaking her head and blinking quickly. “I figured out a way to track it. I’ve been using Stark Industries tech and satellites. You’ve been giving off higher waves than usual over the last few days, so I was able to narrow it down to a state and then a city. We were already in the Quinjet; we thought if we could get closer, we’d get a better reading. And then it skyrocketed and we knew exactly where you were.” She glances at Rogers then. “We didn’t know they’d be here. We weren’t… We didn’t know you were with anyone.” 

Darcy says nothing, offers no explanation, doesn’t think she owes them anything. 

Jane’s hands shake so hard Darcy can hear her bones shifting in her skin. She balls them into fists to still them and lifts her chin. “I’m so sorry. I… I  _looked_ for you. I went to the police that night. I called SHIELD. They told me they were looking for you. You have to believe me, I didn’t know they were HYDRA. I thought they could  _help_. I thought they were the good guys. Or as close as we could get.” 

Tears spill down Jane’s cheeks then; Darcy can taste the salt in them. 

“It wasn’t until April, until SHIELD fell apart, that I realized they had you the whole time.” Jane vibrates with rage; Darcy can taste it, can feel it deep in her bones, like a poison feeding on her marrow.

“I know… I know I can’t make it better. I don’t even know if you can forgive me. I… They wouldn’t have taken you if it wasn’t for me.  _I_ can’t forgive me for that.” She lets out a sad, self-loathing laugh. 

Darcy stares at her. At the way her hips jut out because she isn’t eating, the hollows of her cheeks, the dry, lank state of her hair. This isn’t the same Jane that was so science-obsessed she couldn’t be bothered to say goodbye as Darcy was leaving for a grocery run turned kidnapping. This woman is haunted, swimming in guilt and regret. She stinks of it; it pours from her so strongly Darcy has to breathe through her mouth if she focuses on it too long. But then it just collects on her tongue, the sour taste of defeat and remorse. 

“Please say something.” Jane stares at her searchingly. “Please. I… Even if you can’t forgive me, please, Darcy, just come home.” 

He stiffens at her back, and she feels the panic coil up in his chest. 

She can see as Rogers notices it too, either reading something in his face or his body language. 

“We won’t make you,” Rogers pipes up, looking at each of them. “We don’t want to pressure you into anything. We just… We want you to be safe and okay, that’s all. It’s… It’s just not  _safe_ out here.”

There’s a moment, a pause that feels like a lifetime, and then she hears him, the vibration of his chest against her back. His voice is deep, thick with caution. “We’re not done yet.” 

Rogers’ brow furrows. “Done with what? What are you doing? Maybe we can help!” 

“Not your fight.”

Rogers wilts, his shoulders slumping. “If it’s your fight, it’s mine,” he says heavily. And sincerely, she notices. For such a large man, he seems so small in that moment.

She feels his hesitation; every time she’s asked him if he wanted to look for Rogers, if he wanted to head back to New York and reunite with his best friend, he’d been clear that the timing wasn’t right. That Rogers wouldn’t recognize who he is now and it was better not to get into it. But here they were, and Rogers was reaching across the divide, begging him to reach back. 

Sam has shuffled closer to the others, gun put away. He’s watching the whole situation play out calmly and quietly. He has an interesting energy about him, she finds; warm and empathetic, friendly and lively. It’s dulled now, the weight of everything pulling it down, but it’s still there, underneath it all. 

Natasha and Hill move to stand at Rogers’ and Jane’s back. In their own way, the five of them are a unit, strong and whole. She wonders if any of them know what it feels like, to go through what they have, to have to face the people that knew them and know that they’re not who they want them to be. 

Natasha’s energy is dark, threaded with red and purple. Darcy can taste old wounds and mental anguish there. She, of them all, might be able to relate. But the others… Jane. Rogers. They’ll never get it. Never see who they are, only who they were. 

She squeezes his hand and when he squeezes hers back, she takes a deep breath, filled with resolve. Staring at the group collected in front of them, she shakes her head. “Stop looking for us,” she tells them decisively. “We have no home.” 

With that, she turns, and they walk away, hands joined. 

She feels Jane run forward, and the reverberation of her body against a wall of energy Darcy left behind. It won’t hold for long, she’s never tried it before, didn’t even know she could do it, so it’s both unfamiliar and incredibly draining. But she thinks she can hold out long enough to give them time to escape. She’s not sure where they’ll go, but she knows they can’t stay. 

She can still hear them yelling; Rogers calling for ‘Bucky’ and Jane pleading with her to come back. Natasha is working on finding a way through the energy wall, more curious than anything. 

They backtrack the same way they came in, but her energy flags quickly. The wall takes a lot out of her, or maybe this whole days has, and she feels herself grow weak as they climb the fence outside of the warehouse, landing in the adjacent field. As soon as her feet hit the ground, her knees shake, and she feels a stream of blood pour out of her nose and stream down her chin. She catches it in her hand, her fingers shaking, and looks up at him.

His eyes flare wide and he quickly slips an arm under her legs, hauling her up and carrying her against his chest as he breaks into a run. He’s panting, concern and confusion pumping through him in equal amounts. 

She feels the energy wall finally shatter and her head falls to his shoulder. She’s tired,  _so tired_ … 

“Stay awake,” he tells her. “You hear me,  _dorogaya_?”

She grips the front of his shirt, smearing her blood on him, and her vision goes fuzzy around the edges. “Can’t. ‘m tired.”

He lets out a guttural whine, and she can hear the way his heart thumps. He doesn’t think she’ll wake up; she can feel it, taste the pungent flavor of grief already growing. He starts muttering to himself in Russian, words she can’t understand, but she thinks she gets the gist of it well enough. He thinks he’s losing her, and he’s not prepared to let it happen. 

“’m fine,” she tells him, struggling to keep her eyes open. 

Distantly, she can hear Rogers in pursuit, Natasha quick at his heels, and Jane further back. Panic suddenly grips her. “Don’t let them take me,” she says, her eyes flashing open. “ _Please_.” 

He stares down at her, his own face grim, but then his expression hardens, and he nods at her with resolve. 

She feels it before it opens; like a pulse of sweet, unparalleled power. Bright lights and crackling energy cyclone from the sky and land in the middle of the field, directly in their path. Thor is nowhere to be seen, so she knows it isn’t him coming to intercept them. It’s something else. An invitation if she’s ever seen one. Darcy considers the options, their pursuers, and then presses her lips in a firm line. She points ahead. “Go. There. Stand on it.” 

He looks down at her skeptically, but she stares back just as certain. “Trust me.” 

He stares a second longer and then he runs forward. As soon as he stands in the center, they’re pulled up, gathered into the energy storm and swept away. 

She can see Rogers stumble to a stop and Jane stare on in a mixture of hurt and confusion. And then they’re gone, and it’s nothing but a dizzy mass of bright energy. It feels light and warm and oddly comforting. 

When it finally stops, they appear in a golden, dome-shaped room. A massive man in solid gold armor stands at the center, peering down at them from all-seeing amber eyes. His energy is crystal clear; tasting of both water and fire. She feels protected and warm even from a distance. 

He steps down from his platform and walks toward them, raising a large fist to press to his chest. “Welcome, James Barnes and Lady Darcy. I am Heimdall, Guardian of the Bifröst Bridge and Gatekeeper to Asgard.” 

Darcy struggles to stay awake, to say something, but it’s in that moment that everything simply goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **dorogaya** \- _russian_ \- sweetheart


	16. selfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane _screams._

Jane  _screams_.

She falls to her knees in the dry, yellow grass as her friend is torn away, in the arms of a man she doesn’t know, a man she’s only heard of, who is dangerous and reckless and formerly HYDRA’s greatest asset. 

So her knees give out under her and her heart shatters in her chest and she screams until the hollow emptiness inside her swells up with rage and sorrow. Arms wrapped atop her head, she pitches forward, desperately sucking air into her burning lungs. She feels herself shake and struggle, body vibrating with the force of her loss, with months and months of built up hope finally falling through the cracks. And then she drops her hands down to the ground, fingers opening and closing uselessly. 

She was so close. Darcy was right there, just within reach. Stiff and wary, she’d looked at all of them like they were the enemy, someone she needed to guard herself against. And it broke Jane’s heart. 

It wasn’t like she’d expected Darcy to just run into her arms, ask to go home, and everything would go back to what it was. But she’d thought... She’d  _hoped_... That maybe there was a chance, some small hope, that she would  _want_ to. That she would know that Jane never meant to hurt her. Never meant to be the reason any of this happened to her.

But this... She didn’t expect this. This was so beyond anything that she thought she’d find. Darcy, hiding where she could, blending in with the crowds, sleeping in hostels, homeless and paranoid, struggling to keep her growing powers hidden, she expected that. Not... Not the woman that had greeted her, looking like... like... Jane doesn’t even know how to describe it. There was a hardness to her, not just physically, though she was that too, but emotionally. There was something hard and unrelenting in her face. Something that wasn’t there before. 

Darcy of Before was soft. She was gentle and funny and full of snark. She never took anything too seriously, not even alien invasions, and she just... she was the yin to Jane’s yang. And maybe that’s selfish, to miss it, maybe  _she’s_ selfish for wanting her back when she clearly doesn’t want to be. But she does. 

She wants her friend. She wants to show her that she  _does_ have a home, she will  _always_ have a home, for as long as Jane is alive. And she doesn’t have to be her intern if that’s not what she wants. If she needs time to just find her footing again. If she wants to go back to school or just curl up on the couch in Jane’s lab and not move until the world makes sense again. If she wants to see someone about what happened, talk about it, Jane will make that happen. She just... She wants to make up for her part in this. 

Because this is her fault, isn’t it? This is on her. She’s the one who didn’t think about how it could affect Darcy. How her work, her breakthroughs, came with downsides too. She was the one who let Darcy leave alone. Who didn’t notice she was gone for  _hours_. Didn’t get her back. Didn’t save her from SHIELD or HYDRA or  _both_. She’s at fault and it  _eats_ at her. It’s eaten her whole.

She kneels, defeated in the grass, and takes a deep breath. She lets her head fall back and peers up at the sky, so bright and open and happy, like it hasn’t just torn a hole inside her. Anger builds up inside her. Betrayal makes her heart tremble. Thor or Heimdall or  _someone_ brought the Einstein Rosen Bridge down. They  _took_ her away.  _Again_. 

Jane’s eyes narrow into slits before she shoves herself up. And she doesn’t care how pointless it is, she doesn’t care if they can’t hear her, she doesn’t care that she could be screaming at nothing and no one. She does it anyway. 

“Give her  _back!”_

She stomps forward, past a defeated Captain America and a frowning Black Widow. She makes her way right up to the burned emblem in the field and she stares directly above her self. 

 _“THOR!_ You give her back, do you hear me? Send her back, right now!” Her hands, balled up into fists, shake at her sides. “You can’t have her! This isn’t fair! You  _promised!_ You told me you wouldn’t interfere. You said you’d...” Her voice catches and she shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I need her back!  _Please!”_ She drops back down, kneeling on the burnt ground, slumped and tired. " _Heimdall!_ ”   

Heimdall doesn’t answer, and neither does Thor. There is nothing but empty, telling, silence. The sky stays blue, wisps of clouds crawling across, no bridge to be seen. And Jane waits. Heart breaking with every passing second.

Maria crosses the field and kneels beside her. She’s a silent, steady support, with a hand on Jane’s shoulder, letting her lean against her, the only pillar she’s had through any of this. 

Jane rubs a hand under her nose and sniffles. She takes a moment to let things fall apart, let  _herself_ fall apart. Feels every piece of her splinter for a moment, fracture down the center, and then she sweeps them all back up and puts them back together. The picture’s not perfect, the edges are sharp and she’s mostly held together with glue and duct tape, but it’s enough. 

She looks up at Maria then. “Think Stark would let me build a bridge to Asgard on his roof?” 

And Maria, bless her,  _laughs_. “Honestly...?  _Probably.”_

Jane nods. “Good.” She looks up then, her mouth set in a line. “‘Cause I’m going to.”


	17. ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I mean you no harm, James Barnes.”

“I mean you no harm, James Barnes.”

Heimdall can tell that, though his words are meant to comfort the warrior, he is still as stiff and unconvinced as ever. He does not take it personally though; he’s seen the damage HYDRA has wrought on James and he knows that caution is a defense mechanism. To lessen his discomfort, Heimdall let his armor and helmet melt away, leaving him dressed down in his tunic and leather pants. While Hofund, his sword, appears to remain behind, it is truly strapped to his back, unseen by James, lest it encourage his paranoia.

“The Lady Darcy has told you of me?” he asks. 

Heimdall knows the answer; has heard Darcy soothe James through his nightmares with stories she’s heard from Thor. Of his hard-won battles and his childhood as a prince. She tells him of how she ‘tased’ Thor when they first met because he’d seemed drunk and out of control, but had later proved his worth as a friend. 

James nods slowly, but does not speak. It’s not uncommon for him, Heimdall knows. He has a tendency to stay quiet, perhaps conditioned that way. While he’s been getting better, it’s due in part to Darcy’s presence, so Heimdall understands that it does not extend to him as well. 

“Good. Then perhaps your time here may come as less of a shock.”

He walks to the doorway leading to the bridge into Asgard then. “I know you’re concerned for Lady Darcy’s well-being. As am I. I would like to introduce her to the healers of Asgard if you are so willing...” 

James’s eyes dart, looking from Heimdall to the bridge and then down to Darcy once more. His mouth is twisted up in an uncertain grimace. Heimdall can almost see the panic bubbling up inside him. As it is, the Lady Darcy squirms a little, as if she too can sense it, and he finds himself briefly pondering on the energy exchanges they often share.

“Our healers are very accomplished. You can stay with her while they offer assistance. I promise you will not be separated.” 

He walks to the door then, allowing James his back in a gesture of camaraderie. It’s not something he would allow for just anyone, as he was raised to be a guardian and a soldier, to always secure himself against an one who might call themselves enemy. But he hopes, perhaps a little naively, that James will see the situation for what it is and not seek to attempt harm. 

Heimdall can hear him follow, though he keeps his distance, and they cross the bridge in silence. It is no small trek, long as it is, but they keep a steady pace. They’re nearly at the mid-point when James Barnes finally speaks. 

“She says you can see things. See all the... realms.” 

His tone is awkward, but his voice is clear, demanding an answer to a question he has only implied. 

“Aye, I can.” Heimdall’s gaze falls for a moment before he turns to see him over his shoulder. “There are nine realms, and many of them are struggling. I did not realize the peril Lady Darcy was in until too late. It’s something I deeply regret.” 

“And Thor?” His brow furrows and his mouth sets in an unforgiving line. “What about him?”

“He was trying to bring peace to the realms. He was not made aware of Lady Darcy’s circumstance. But I am certain you will want to hear that from him. From any but the perpetrator, words are often empty. We all have things we must ask forgiveness for. Things we were not prepared for. I can only answer for myself. My duty is to the realms and to Asgard and it was my mistakes that allowed Lady Darcy to continue her suffering.” 

James grows quiet then, but not with anger, as Heimdall expects. Instead, it is with contemplation. 

The rest of the walk to the gates is quiet, and James’ apprehension is thick. 

“No one will harm you here,” Heimdall tells him. “HYDRA has no power in Asgard and all you meet are allies of Thor and myself.” 

There’s a carriage waiting for them to bring them where they please. He informs the man at the helm, holding the reigns to the horses, that they seek aid at the healers, located in the heart of the kingdom. Heimdall climbs in first and takes a seat on one side. James follows, sitting across from him, cradling Darcy in his lap. He fusses over her as they make their way forward. Smoothing her hair back and trying to rub the dried blood from her mouth and chin. 

“She has extended herself too far,” Heimdall notes. “Her powers are growing but she’s not yet learned to control them.” 

“It’s all new for her,” James answers defensively. 

“Aye, it is. And she will conquer them.” Heimdall nods. “But there is much to learn about power such as these. HYDRA has used her for what they hoped would be their gain in what I believe was an attempt to create another like you. Perhaps not in the same vein, but a similar one.” 

“A super soldier?”

“I’ve seen a great many things during my life and the search for power is ever-lasting. Some seek it for themselves, other seek only to control it in others.”

He huffs out a bitter laugh at that. “Yeah.” 

“In my experience, those who seek to control eventually lose it, and those who are controlled will always break their chains. To what end, that is anyone’s guess.” 

James’ gaze lifts then, meets Heimdall’s across the divide. “You don’t think revenge is worth it?” 

“I think battle, when done right, is honorable. Slay your enemy, seek your justice, I find no fault in that. It is ‘after’ that comes hard for many warriors. After the war is won, what future is there? The man that rides to war is not the man that returns. And sometimes home is not what it was when he left.” 

James looks to Darcy, his brow furrowed. “What they did to her... To me... I can’t let that go... Can’t just walk away from it.” 

“Aye. I wouldn’t either,” Heimdall admits honestly. He leans forward then, elbows resting atop his knees. “It’s a grave injustice, the things they’ve done, the lives lost, the time that’s been stolen from you...” He peers at James a long moment and then down to the pale, limp form of Darcy. “I would help you gain your power back, James Barnes. In any way that I might offer.” 

James looks at him then, wary and a little confused. “ _Why_?” he wonders. “Why bother at all? You could’a gone on, never said a thing to us, never explained it, and we wouldn’t have even thought to come asking for your help. So why offer it? Why bring us up here?” 

Heimdall takes a moment to consider his answer, scrapes his hand over his mouth. “When I was born, they told my mother that I was blessed with a gift. That I would see so far and so completely that no harm could ever come to the realms without my say-so. I grew from a boy with a gift to a man with a burden... There is power in sight. Power in knowing all the good and evil that plagues these realms. But I am only one man and my reach is only so far. 

“Failure comes in many ways, and I have seen my share of it these last few years.” He looks to Darcy then, so young and fragile and yet so strong. “I will not lie. Guilt drives me in this. A desire to make amends for where I have failed. But my offer is honest. If I can help you in any way then I will try. And should you decide to reject my offer, then I will accept that too. You may stay as long as you need in Asgard and when you are ready to leave, I will send you wherever you so desire.” 

“Not back to Steve?” he asks, his shoulders stiff. 

“If you seek to avoid the Avengers and Jane Foster, then I will do what I can to support you.” He meets James’ gaze steadily. “Your choice was taken from you long ago, I will not condone it any longer.”

The carriage comes to a stop then and he stands from his seat to climb down. The doors to the infirmary open and the head healer steps out, her gaze sharp and her mouth set in a familiar frown. 

“Eir,” Heimdall greets. 

“More Midgadians, I see,” she replies, looking past him, a brow raised. “We seem to be starting a collection.”

“Consider it a favor to me that you see to her well-being. They are my guests and I hope you will honor them as such.” 

Eir lets out a steady puff of irritated air, but nods all the same. “And what curious ailment does she bring with her?” 

James climbs down from the carriage, Darcy still carefully held in his arms as he all but scowls at the collected nurses. 

“Aside from the flea in desperate need of a bath holding her that is...” 

James snorts, unaffected. “Hasn’t been sleeping, going on three days. She’s got energy powers, used ‘em all up and they knocked her clean out.” 

“It speaks.” Eir met his gaze unflinchingly. “And you? What ailment do you have?”

“’m fine,” he grunts.

“Nonsense,” she dismisses. “You’ve clearly been injured. There’s scaring around your eyes and deep tissue damage, I can see it.” 

He shifts. 

“Come. We have work to do.” Eir starts for the door then, but pauses to look back at Heimdall. “Keep your favor. Despite the terrible end to the last visit, I found the previous Midgardian just interesting enough to suffer another one.” 

Heimdall smiles faintly then. “The Lady Darcy is a good friend of Jane Foster’s. I have no doubt she will be as interesting as you hope.” 

Humming, Eir walks ahead. “ _Good_.” 

James hesitates and turns back to Heimdall uncertainly. “You trust them?” 

“I do,” he says sincerely. “Eir offers no nonsense. She will be blunt, which is not always welcome, but she is the best Healer in the nine realms. She will return Darcy to good health, I promise you.” 

He’s still not sure, but he tips his head forward a little, and takes a step toward the infirmary. 

“James Barnes?” 

He looks back to Heimdall, a brow arched. 

“Should you have any need of me, I will be close. But I should warn you, it won’t be long before Thor learns that Darcy is in Asgard, and he will seek her out.” 

James’ expression darkened then, his lips pursed, but he nods all the same. With that, he turns, and follows Eir into the hospital, eager to see to Darcy’s well being. 

Heimdall lingers a moment, wonders at the consequences of his intervention, but decides, ultimately, that he did what he thought was right. The Lady Darcy and James Barnes were not ready to reunite with their friends. So, for now, he will help them as they need. 

As dark clouds roll across the sky and thunder rumbles in warning, he knows Thor’s arrival is imminent, and finds a bench to sit upon as he awaits his friend. They have much to discuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did look it up to be sure, so **[Eir](http://marvel-movies.wikia.com/wiki/Eir)** is the healer that Jane met in Thor 2. High-five for continuity! ;)


	18. release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve isn’t content to be alone with his thoughts, but he’s not eager for company either.

Steve isn’t content to be alone with his thoughts, but he’s not eager for company either.

He replays it, over and over, in his mind. The moment when Bucky stepped out from the stacks, placing himself in Darcy’s path, reaching for her, standing as a sentinel, overlooking them all. There was a fierceness to his face, a protectiveness that Steve recognizes well. It makes his heart lurch in his chest. He doesn’t want to say he’s envious. He should be glad. Glad that Bucky hasn’t been alone this whole time. That he has someone he cares about and trusts. But he can’t help but wish it was him. Wish he was the one that Bucky trusted to help him through this. That’s all he wants, all he’s been chasing these last seven months. And he’d had it, for just a second, he’d been in reach, only to have him torn away again. 

No. That’s not right. He left willingly. Didn’t even pause. Didn’t look back or hesitate or anything. He just took her hand and walked--  _ran_ away from them. From  _him_. 

“You shouldn’t take it personally.”

Steve looks up abruptly, his thoughts scattering as he sees Maria peering down at him knowingly. She’s released her hair from her ponytail and put her Bluetooth away. It has an oddly humanizing affect on her. Her cheeks seem rounder, not so sharp, and her eyes a little brighter, friendlier even. She takes a seat next to him, all agile limbs, and crosses her legs at the knee. 

“How’s Doctor Foster?” he asks. He can still hear her screaming, the sound of a wounded animal, her heart torn and her desperation on display in raw detail. 

“Sleeping.” She sighs, stacking her hands on her stomach. “Hasn’t done much of that. Takes a lot to get her out of the lab. She’s been even more dedicated to the cause lately, when she finally got her algorithm going and pinned down where Darcy was...” She pauses then. “How’d you find them anyway?” 

Steve looks over at her. “Sam thought we should try to find a pattern in the HYDRA holes that were being hit, see if we could get an idea of what direction Bucky was headed in. He doesn’t linger anywhere too long, but we found a few places that we thought were him. Kept following the trail and found an abandoned warehouse not far from here, signs that someone was there recently. We took a chance, thought maybe he was making another supplies run, narrowed it down to here as the most likely place, especially with the lax security...” He shakes his head. “She caught me off guard. I didn’t even see her coming until she was there.” 

“Looks like she had a pretty good teacher,” Maria muses. 

He nods, his smile faint and bittersweet. “Yeah, she does. Was Bucky that first taught me how to fight... Simple stuff back then, y’know? Bullies in alley ways, nothing like this...” 

“Bully’s a bully, Cap. They come in all sizes and on every platform.” 

“Yeah. Can’t argue that.” He sighs, sitting back in his seat. “You think we made the wrong choice? Looking for them.” 

“Not wrong, exactly... I guess what we really have to ask ourselves is  _why_ we’re looking for them.” When he turns to look at her, a brow raised, she shrugs. “Oh, I already know my lot in this. I’m trying to balance out the guilt I have over how SHIELD mishandled things... I didn’t see it, Steve. Didn’t see what they were doing that whole time. I can’t make up for a lot of it. What’s done is done. But Darcy... And Jane... I can do something good there.” 

He takes a moment, considers the truth of what she’s staying. He’s not impervious to the guilt of it all. He did what he could, taking SHIELD down the way he had, but it doesn’t erase the year of service before that. Doesn’t erase the fact that he’d trusted those men, his STRIKE team, the people that walked those halls and called the shots. The agency Peggy helped build, inviting him on that alone to trust and believe in it. 

He thinks about it sometimes. How the same men that had his back on countless missions were keeping his best friend on ice behind the scenes. How did they live with themselves? How did they sleep at night?

“I wonder sometimes, if I just missed the signs... If I just turned a blind eye to something that could’ve let me know... Could’ve let me see it sooner... If maybe I could’ve done something, intervened somehow, gotten him out sooner...” 

“You’ll bury yourself with questions like that.” Maria shakes her head. “And even if there was, you think adding more guilt to your plate is going to change anything? You Catholic boys, dramatic and self-loathing, I swear.” 

He snorts at that, shakes his head, and then his face turns grim. “All those years, Maria... All that time I was on ice, he was their puppet... And I... I  _left_ him. After he fell from the train, I just--” 

“How could you  _possibly_ know that he was alive?” she interrupts, looking at him seriously. “You didn’t know, Steve. You didn’t know he had the serum in him, you didn’t know that he would survive a drop that far, you didn’t know that HYDRA would find him. These things, they’re terrible, and they’ll keep you up at night, but there is no going back, no do-overs. You look at what you’ve got now, you make a plan, and you execute it. So what’s your plan?” 

He grinds his teeth, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and stares at the floor a long moment. “I get him back,” he says. 

“And what then?” 

His brow furrows as he turns to her. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s easy to plan for the immediate. You’re used to war, Rogers. You handle what’s in front of you and then you deal with the rest as it comes. But this isn’t war. It might feel like it, but it’s not.” She tips her head then, rolls her eyes to the side. “You know what Jane says when I ask her what she’ll do when she gets Darcy back? She says she’ll take care of her, make it up to her, show her that she didn’t meant to hurt her. And I get it. Her heart’s in the right place. But the reality of this situation isn’t that simple...” 

He sits forward a little, waits for her to elaborate. 

“Darcy Lewis, an untrained civilian, was picked up off the streets.” She snaps her fingers. “In the blink of an eye, her whole life changed. She was an intern with a political science degree. Astrophysics wasn’t her field and she had to know when they grabbed her that she wasn’t going to be able to give them the answers they wanted. So think about it, she’s sitting in a cell somewhere in London, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before they realize she’s  _useless_ to them. She had a countdown mocking her in her head, just waiting for when they just cut their losses and kill her. 

“And then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, instead of killing her, they decide to make her their science project. She goes from a death sentence to months of torture and experimentation, all the while hoping and praying that her friends, that SHIELD, that  _anyone,_ would get her out. And we  _don’t_. Nobody comes. They move her to an American facility, so she’s even closer to the people who are supposed to be Earth’s greatest heroes, and she’s left there... having no idea who or what she’ll be when they’re done.” 

Maria folds her lips then, her eyes down, and shakes her head. “You don’t walk away from that. You can’t just pick up from where you left off.” 

Steve sits back, a weight heavy on his chest. “He said they weren’t done. That it’s not our fight. You think they’re going after HYDRA?” 

“Wouldn’t you?” 

“He’s training Darcy. I thought it was just for protection at first...” He rubs a hand over his sternum; he can still feel the bruise from her boot there. He has more than a few cuts and bruises leftover from their fight. They’re fading, sure, but he won’t lie, she was a lot stronger and faster than he’d expected. “But if they’re gearing up for a fight...” 

“HYDRA’s a big target for two people.” 

“Yeah, it is... Better to go out fighting than lay down and die...” He frowns, brows furrowed. “I don’t get it though. He recognized me, I could feel it. So why not let us help? He knows that we’re against HYDRA. He knows we’d help him with this.” 

“He’s had seventy years of isolation and programming to work against. Changes are high that he’s got PTSD and a spotty memory. Even if he does remember you, who’s to say you’ll understand?” 

Steve can’t help but feel hurt. “It’s not like things have been a picnic for me either.”

“Does he know that? Does he have any idea what it’s been like for you?” She raises a knowing eyebrow. “You know who he does know? The woman he saw experimented on and caged, just like him. A woman it looks like he saved. I think you were right. It was him that took out that facility, and the only one he left alive was Darcy. He took her out of that hell hole and now they’re on a crusade to pay back everybody that hurt them...”

“So what are you suggesting? What do I  _do_?” he wonders. He’s tired, exhausted both physically and mentally. He rubs a hand over his forehead and slumps in his seat. “Do I just... let him go? Hope he wins and finds me when it’s over?  _What?_ ” 

“There’s no easy answer here. Jane’s not ready to let it go. She’ll work herself to the bone building her own bridge to Asgard. I have no doubt about that. But what all of us keep failing to ask is... what do  _they_ want? Because I saw them today, I saw two very wounded, very complicated people, and they didn’t just ask, they  _told_ us to stop. So I guess this is where we decide whether or not we know better than them, or whether we’re willing to respect their choices.” 

Steve doesn’t have a good answer for that, and it appears Maria isn’t expecting one. She stands from her seat and makes her way back into the quinjet, probably to check and make sure Jane is still sleeping. 

Natasha is at the helm, flying them home, and Sam is laid up on a medical med, a splint on his knee to keep it steady until they get back to the tower and can get a better read for how injured it is. He insists it’s just swollen and Darcy didn’t break anything, but they don’t want to take any chances. 

Steve stays where he is, lets himself get swept up in his thoughts. 

Part of him wants to follow in Doctor Foster’s footsteps. To join her on her bridge and chase Bucky to Asgard. Another part of him keeps seeing him, that terrified look in his eyes as Jane begged Darcy to come ‘home.’ He thought he was going to lose her, that she might walk away from him, and the idea shook him to his core. Steve could see it, could see the way he stiffened, his teeth clenched. But Darcy made her choice, and it was Bucky. 

His whole life, Steve’s always had Bucky. His friend, his  _brother_ , his saving grace more often than not. The only person who ever really got him, stood by and up for him. Took the same beatings, threw the same punches, fought the same damn battles. But maybe this wasn’t one they could both take on. Maybe this one was just Bucky’s. Maybe instead of forcing him to take him along, he could just let him know that when he was ready,  _if_ he was ready, Steve would be there. In whatever capacity Bucky needed him. It was a hard pill to swallow, that he might have to sit it out, to let Bucky go if that’s what he wanted, but if it was what was right for him, then maybe he could. 

When the quinjet sets down on the roof of Stark Tower, Thor is waiting for them. He’s traded in the armor and the red cape for something more relaxed, but his bearing is still as regal as ever. He bows his head in greeting to Maria and Natasha, helping a hobbling Sam to the tower, and then returns his attention to the open back of the quinjet, where Steve and a newly wide-awake Jane linger.

Steve’s not surprised to see Jane isn’t happy to see Thor, neither is she willing to hear his reasons. 

She runs down the ramp, lunges forward and plants her hands on Thor’s chest to shove him back a step. “How  _could_  you? You  _promised!”_

“Jane,  _please_. You must understand...” 

“You  _lied_ to me! She was  _right there_ ,” she cries. “You said you wouldn’t intervene! I almost had her back. I almost  _had_ her!” She beats her fists against his chest, grabs at his shirt and pulls at him. 

Thor takes it, but reaches for her, tries to hold her, rubbing her shoulders as she breaks down. 

Jane fights him off, all wiggling arms and sharp elbows She slaps his hands away angrily, hiccuping on tears, before finally sidestepping and quickly making her way to the door leading inside the tower.

Thor’s shoulders are slumped, his expression drawn and weary, but he doesn’t give chase.

Steve hesitates a moment, but eventually decides to walk down the ramp to meet his teammate. 

“I suppose I own you an apology as well,” Thor greets him. “I admit, I had no idea that Lady Darcy’s companion was your compatriot. Heimdall was... very particular about how he explained the situation.” 

“Heimdall is the one who... sent the bridge for them?” he asks uncertainly. The ways of Asgard and inter-dimensional travel are still a little foreign to him. 

“Aye.” Thor sighs, long and heavy. “It appears that he has offered them sanctuary in light of... current circumstances.” 

Steve grimaces, but admits, “That might not be the worst thing. At least while they’re in Asgard, they’re safe from HYDRA.” 

He nods. “Yes, well... The Lady Darcy has taken ill. Something, I fear, has much to do with her new found abilities... She is with our healers now. I have faith she will make a full recovery.” 

Steve frowns. “And Bucky?” 

“Has not left her side. Heimdall has made them welcome. He’s offered them rooms to stay in during their visit, but your friend, James Barnes, was keen not to leave Darcy.” Thor smiles faintly. “He is an admirable warrior, and I trust that he will keep watch over her.” 

“Yeah, no, of course he will.” He nods absently. “You saw them?” 

“I did. Very briefly. Darcy was rendered unconscious, so I wasn’t able to speak with her. James didn’t speak much; he... He did question as to why I didn’t rescue her. I made amends where I could, but... He is very protective and understandably wary of people.” 

“But you think she’ll be all right?” 

“Aye, I do. She has a strong spirit.” 

“Good. I’m glad.” 

Thor eyes him a moment, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. “You seem different, Steven. Contemplative.” 

“Just coming to a few conclusions I’m not sure I like.” He smiles faintly, humorlessly. “You know, when I started looking for him, I thought it’d be easier. I convinced myself that all I had to do was get him back and things would just... fall into place. I could help him remember who I was. Who  _he_ was. And now I’m starting to think that maybe he knows he was, he’s just not that person anymore. And it’s... it’s a hard truth to accept.” 

“It’s always difficult to let go of those we hold close, but sometimes, even if it does not feel like it, it’s for the better.” 

Steve thinks of Loki then, of Thor’s desperation to keep his brother alive, to hope that he wasn’t as corrupt as he seemed. 

“Even if I let go though, I know I’m not completely. I’m still holding out hope that he’ll... come home. That he’ll trust me again.” 

“Never  _lose_ hope, just prepare for the event that it will not be fulfilled exactly as you desire... Your Bucky may be lost in some ways, and he may be found in others. We’ve yet to know for sure.” 

He claps a hand down against Steve’s shoulder then. “I do know this... Lady Darcy has a kind and strong heart, no matter what HYDRA tried to do to her. And she would not align herself to just anyone. Perhaps there is more of your friend there than you think.” With a sharp, farewell nod, he lets go and turns to make his way into the tower.

Steve lingers on the roof a long moment, tips his head up and peers at the sky above. It feels foolish, and strange, but after a few false starts, he finally says, “Take care of him... Of both of them.” And he hopes that Heimdall, or whoever is listening, hears him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the catholic reference is due to **[this](http://historicallyaccuratesteve.tumblr.com/post/92559081749/protestant-steve-rogers-v-catholic-steve-rogers)** , and also a reference to matt murdock, ‘cause i felt like it :)


	19. safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy wakes to find herself in a quantum field generator.

Darcy wakes to find herself in a quantum field generator.

“Wait, this  _is_ a quantum field generator, right...?” 

She remembers how excited Jane was when she’d described it, giddy as she shared the details. The memory is bittersweet, but she shakes it off and turns her gaze toward the woman on her left. 

“You’re awake.” She’s an older woman with brown hair and a no-nonsense expression. Her energy is calm; still waters and morning dew on grass. She tuts at Darcy’s inquiry. "Here, on Asgard, it is referred to as a soul forge... But I have recently been informed that the Midgardians prefer quantum field generator, yes.” 

“Cool.” 

Darcy stares up at the colorful rendition of herself; the make up of her molecular energy in full view. “So it can tell you what happened to me then...? Why I passed out?” 

“It wasn’t difficult to surmise when you were brought in. You’ve extended yourself too far. The energy you put out comes from you; your core was empty, so you collapsed. It needed time to regenerate." 

“Regenerate... So sleeping does that, or...?” 

The woman blinks at her. “How, exactly, did you come upon your abilities?” she wonders. “Your partner was vague on the details and Heimdall is a vault about these things.” 

Darcy looks away then, focuses on the free energy weaving around above her. “I wasn’t born with them, if that’s what you’re asking. They’re still pretty new, and growing. I feel like I learn something about them every other day.” 

The woman doesn’t answer right away; instead, she fusses, fiddling with whatever’s in reach. “There was scarring on your arms, your fingertips, your neck... Tiny holes that have healed over.” 

“Needles,” Darcy says, her throat tight. “Yeah, I got stuck with a lot of those.”

“Archaic,” she scoffs. “We’re far beyond that now.” 

“Yeah. Soul forge was a dead giveaway, I think.” She attempts a smile, but judging by the woman’s expression, assumes she must have failed.

“You didn’t come by your powers by choice, did you?” 

“No. Can’t say I had much choice in any of it.” Her voice is hollow, distant, but she shakes it off and soon finds her gaze searching the room. There’s traces of blue energy, mostly in the chair pulled close to where she’s laying, but it’s faded enough that she knows he hasn’t been there for a little while. “My partner? Where is he?” 

“I told him he wasn’t allowed back in here until he stopped smelling so awful and had a good meal. Heimdall showed him to his room. I have no doubt he’ll be returning soon. He fusses like an old hen.” 

“He worries.” Darcy reaches up then, lets her fingers run through the swirling yellow energy. “We’re all we have.” 

“I’d expect, given who brought you here, and whose visited, you have a few more than you think...” 

Darcy frowns then and turns to look at her. “Who visited me?” 

“Prince Thor made his position well known that you were an honored friend of his, and he expected you to be treated as so.” 

Her muscles tighten then, panic rushing through her. 

The energy above her blinks red, and the woman sighs. “He has returned to Midgard if that’s what worries you. He and your partner had words, short as they were. I gather they were not keen on each other.” 

Darcy swallows tightly, thinks of Thor a moment and feels a ripple of old energy in the room, smelling of rain and sand and lightening. “He doesn’t like a lot of people,” she says. “Don’t take it too personally.” 

The woman clucks her tongue. “Oh, I won’t.” She peers down at Darcy a moment, her brow furrowed. “Thor was very concerned for you. I’ll not pretend I have any idea what trials you’ve been through. Though I’ve seen plenty of the damage it’s done. But I do know the importance of allies, and whether you want one or not, you have it in the prince.” 

“Yeah, well, unfortunately that only comes in handy when he’s around. Not so much when he’s not.” She grimaces then, uncomfortable with how bitter she sounds. “Am I okay now? Can I get up?” She wants to leave; wants to find him. She’s fairly sure she can follow his blue energy trail, cold as it might be.

“It’s not recommended,” the woman tells her stoutly. “Though your partner didn’t listen, so I’m sure you won’t either.” 

Darcy frowns, worry building up in her. “Is he all right? What happened?” She sits up quickly.

“Keep calm. I only wanted to see to his health as well. There’s deep tissue damage and trauma to his shoulder. We can repair it if he likes, but he wasn’t comfortable with it. He was undernourished and dehydrated; his body needs more fuel since it burns it so quickly. There was also some damage to his mind, repeated to the point that it would appear there is severe scar tissue left behind. Some of it is repairable, the more recent damage at least, but some of it is too old, too set, for us to do anything.” 

“But his arm...?” 

“The prosthetic he wears does not fit properly. We can have a new one made for him that will be lighter and won’t cause the same nerve damage he’s suffered. The scarring, at least some of it , is due to the archaic design of his arm and how it fits on him. The new arm is a better choice, both for battle and personal reasons. It is, of course, his decision... But he would be foolish to ignore it.” 

Darcy’s lips quirk. “Pull no punches, huh?” 

“In my position, there are none to be pulled. It would only be a waste of my time and yours.” She takes a step back then. “I suppose, if you promise to be careful and not overextend yourself, that you could be allowed to rest in the room Heimdall’s prepared for you.”

“What counts as overextend?” she wonders frankly. 

The woman’s mouth tips up faintly. “No fighting, no running, absolutely no energy powers, and I would suggest avoiding any... amorous dealings, until you’re at full power.” 

Darcy clears her throat awkwardly, deciding not to get into the lack of sex currently. “When will I know I’m at full power?” 

“When I tell you so, and not a moment sooner,” she replies simply. 

Managing not to roll her eyes, she nods instead. “Deal.” Turning her legs over to the edge of the table, she sat herself up, pausing a moment as her arms shook. “So... Quick question, how long have I been out?” She drops down to her feet, but quickly grasps the table as her legs tremble under her. 

The woman caught Darcy’s elbow to steady her and said, quite severely, “Four days, Miss Lewis. You really have pushed the limits on your abilities. I’d caution you to be more careful until you’re certain of how they work.” 

“Yeah, that’s a nice theory, but I don’t know anybody else with these powers, so...” She tries to take a step forward, winces when she stumbles a bit, but takes another just to prove her own body wrong. 

“If it’s a teacher you need, then a teacher I can be.” 

Darcy looks up at her, frowning a little. “You know how to do this...?” 

“I know how the biology of your powers works, and I’ve raised three magical daughters. I think I can teach you how control and awareness works. That is, if you’ll accept my help.”

She considers the option, not only because she really does need the help, but because the woman’s energy is warm, motherly, and entirely comforting. It’s gold, with threads of pink and silver. She can feel knowledge and empathy, stubborn tenacity, and a quick wit. It has a blanketing affect, not unlike a hug from a loved one or a cup of hot cocoa with extra marshmallows. It stings the roof of your mouth when you drink it too quick, but if you take your time, it warms you from the inside out.

Still, trust isn’t easily won for her anymore, and she needs a little more time to think about where she is and what the plan is going forward. “Can I think on it?” she asks. 

“Of course.” With a nod, she says, “Now, let’s get you to your room. You shouldn’t be walking just yet. Your body hasn’t moved much and you need to get your strength back. Midgardians are so fragile that way...” 

Darcy leans into her, lets her half-carry her toward the door, as her legs are all but useless and the effort to pretend they aren’t is draining. She cracks a yawn and finds herself hoping that her room isn’t too far away. 

They’re halfway down the hall when she feels it, blue energy coming her way, and quickly. 

Relief rushes through her. “He’s here.” 

“Who is?” 

He comes around the corner then, goes still at the sight of her, and just as a relieved smile breaks across her lips, he runs toward her, eating up the last of the space between them. He stumbles to a stop, nearly bowling her over, and cups her face in his hands. 

“You’re okay? Huh?” He stares down at her searchingly, his eyes tired and red-rimmed. He smells good though, like soap and leather. 

“I’m okay.”

His forehead meets hers, and his sigh fans across her lips. 

She’s got one hand gripping the front of his shirt and the other cradled behind his neck. 

“Scared me, doll.” His head falls, face buried in her neck. “Thought I was gonna lose you.” 

“No.” She shakes her head, wraps her arm over his shoulder and behind his neck. “No, never.” She presses a kiss to the crook of his neck and rubs her nose against it, burying herself against his familiar scent and taste and energy. It swirls around her, warm and strong. Sighing, she murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

His arm squeezes around her waist tightly, the fingers of his other hand flexing in her hair. And she can smell it, that relief and leftover turmoil all mixed up inside of him. She wants to pull back, make sure he’s really okay, but then a throat clears, and she’s reminded they aren’t alone. 

Darcy lifts her head, turns it sheepishly toward the woman, who merely raises an eyebrow. “Remember what I said about what to avoid...” she says meaningfully. 

And Darcy hadn’t thought she could blush-- thought that was long ago lost-- but she feels her cheeks flare red. 

The woman turns to him then. “I see you showered. You no longer smell like the dogs nosing around for scraps.” Her eyes narrowed into a squint. “Did you eat?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers obediently, and Darcy has to bite her lip to hide her amusement. 

He flicks his eyes toward her like he knows it too. 

“Good. Then you can take her back to her room. I have other people to see to and she needs to rest somewhere more comfortable.” She stares up at him sternly. “Make certain she stays off her feet, unless you want to be carrying her back here for another four days.” 

He grimaces at that, and nods. 

With one last look between them, she walks away, and Darcy muses, “She’s an interesting character, huh?” 

“Who, Eir?” He looks back at her and then to Darcy. “She threatened to cut my hair and shave my face if I ever fell asleep around her.” 

Darcy snorts, reaching up to scrub her fingers over the stubble on his chin. “She  _mommed_ you.” 

His mouth twists up at that, and then he bent, tucking his arm under her legs and lifting her up. 

Darcy hangs an arm around his neck but frowns. “I can walk.... Kind of.” 

His brow raises, unconvinced. “’Til she gives you the go ahead to be on your feet, I’ll carry you everywhere.” 

With a sigh, she lets her head fall to his shoulder. “She said she looked you over too... You okay with that?” 

“Was the only way she’d let me sit with you,” he mutters, walking them out of the hall and to the front door. 

The village outside is bright, almost too much so, and Darcy has to close her eyes for a moment so they won’t hurt. She turns her face against his chest to block it out better. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” He walks them down a cobbled road, seeming to know where they were headed, and she doesn’t ask questions. 

“She says she can repair the damage on your shoulder, even get you a new arm.” 

He hums.

“Have you thought about it?” 

“Can’t say I was thinking of much outside’a you.” 

Darcy let her eyes crawl up his neck. “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t... We needed to get away and I just kind of... reacted.” 

“’m not mad at you.” She can taste the honesty in his words, but there’s something else, something he’s not saying. “I was just...” His hands flex around her. “When I was with HYDRA, they used to tell me fear was a luxury I didn’t get to have... When I got out, it became a constant. I was afraid they’d find me, find  _u_ s, drag us back and start all over. Every noise, every place we went, that’s all I ever felt. I didn’t think anything else could scare me like that. Didn’t think anything could top that fear...” 

She fiddles with the collar of his tunic as she listens, his heart beating steadily under her ear. 

“But you wouldn’t wake up. You just... You feel asleep and you weren’t moving or talking or anything. Never seen you so quiet before... I thought the worst thing that could happen was us getting picked up by HYDRA. But it’s not... ‘Least if we’re with them, we got another chance of getting out. Might take seventy years, but it’s a chance...” His teeth grind then and his throat flexes as he swallows. “But if you  _die_...” 

“I’m not gonna die.” 

“You don’t know that,” he argues, shaking his head. 

“You’re right. I don’t. But we’re planning on taking on HYDRA head on, so maybe I’ve accepted that death is a possibility. I’d just rather take them down when I go.” 

“It’s not that simple.” 

“Of course it’s not. But it’s true. We go to war, maybe we die on the field, maybe we don’t.” 

The noise he makes is all frustration. “You’re not hearing me.” 

“Tell me what I’m not hearing.” 

He doesn’t answer her right away, seems to chew on what it is he wants to tell her. And she lets him, because if there’s on thing she’s learned it’s that he’ll be ready when he’s ready and pushing doesn’t help. 

He stops in front of a building then, walks them through the front doors and nods at a woman standing at a desk, writing in a book. 

“Mister Barnes, I hadn’t expected you back so soon. I really must insist you let the staff clean up before you return to your room... ” 

"It’s fine,” he tells her. And Darcy knows it’s because he’s not comfortable with the idea of anyone being in there when he’s not.  

“If you insist,” the woman murmurs, before brightening and saying, “This must be Miss Lewis then... Her room is prepared, if you’re curious.” 

“She’ll be staying with me,” he says, and keeps walking. 

Darcy can hear the woman at the desk muttering under her breath about Midgardians and their lack of manners. 

He climbs the stairs two at a time and stops at the door at the end of the hall, just to the left. He shifts her around in his arms and then presses his hand to the handle but doesn’t turn it. It flashes orange under his palm and unlocks; he kicks it open wide with his boot and walks them inside. The door closes behind them while he carries her to the bed, setting her down gently on the mattress. And then he starts his search, cataloging things to make sure it’s all exactly as he left it and nobody’s been inside. 

Darcy shuffles her way back on the bed and tells him, “Any energy besides yours is at least four days old. I can smell it. Nobody’s been here but you.” 

He hums, the tension in his muscles releasing. He kicks his boots off and makes his way over to the bed, crawling in on the other side. He frowns a little as he lays back. “Too soft.” 

Darcy watches him, the shifts in his face, more animated than they usually are. “You’re comfortable here,” she realizes, a certain lightness to her words. It makes sense, of course. There’s no chance of HYDRA reaching them here. She’s even found herself a little more open to people and being out in broad daylight. Maybe it’s because it’s Thor’s home or maybe because she knows they can’t be found here. They’re virtual strangers to the people of Asgard and their enemies are in an entirely different realm. It’s a comforting thought. 

He looks over at her, eyes washing over her face, and then sighs. “S’not bad.”

She smiles lightly. “It’s okay to like it.” 

He hums, and then reaches for her hand and draws it up to lay on his chest. She taps her finger in sync with his heart. 

Moving closer to him, she presses her chin to his shoulder, where skin meets metal. “I dreamed about you,” she says. 

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhmm.” She stretches her fingers out atop his chest, felt the rough fabric of his shirt under her palm. Tucking her leg around his, she slides her foot up under his knee. She watches his hair slip from its place against his cheek to fall against his ear.

He turns to look at her, his nose brushing against hers. “What’d you dream?” 

“It was food themed,” she confesses. “There was a large plate of pasta shared, a la  _Lady and the Tramp_. But the general gist of it was that we were on our week-long date and it was  _delicious_. I mean, the food was great too, but there was definitely a point that involved strawberries and chocolate sauce that was not in a restaurant. Upon reflection, probably not food for your arm, definitely way too messy, but dreams don’t think about logistics like that so--” 

She’s not expecting the kiss. But it is far better than she could have ever dreamed. 

His lips are smooth and warm and for a moment, she can feel every nerve ending firing, his and hers. She can feel the burst of need and want and happiness roll through him, mimicked in her own body. She can taste the relief and the excitement coming off of him in waves. Hear his heart pick up speed and skip a beat as her tongue strokes the underside of his upper lip.

His fingers bury in her hair and she finds herself on her back as he slides on top of her, knees pressed into the mattress on either side, holding his weight up from smothering her. His arm clicks through its settings at the pulse of adrenaline that runs through him; she can hear the plates shifting quickly before falling back into place. His hair, soft and light, brushes her cheeks and she reaches up, tucking it behind his ears and stroking the tips of her fingers down his neck. 

She smiles into the kiss, into the way his mouth moves over hers with such devoted focus that she can feel his world narrow down to solely her. Or maybe it’s been that way for a while now, just on the edge of ignoring every other thing out there. Here, without the threat of HYDRA or war or anything, with only them, and the relief of her recovery, he is untethered, free from the weight of his fear, and it’s beautiful. 

 _He_ ’s beautiful. 

The keening noise he makes, is also something else, and it sends a jolt of pleasure down to her belly that flares out and makes her thighs shake. 

He’s panting a little, sucking on her bottom lip and trailing a hand down her throat. When he finally pulls his lips from hers, she can feel the blood rush into them, feel how swollen her own mouth is. He presses his forehead to her cheek and tries to catch his breath, tiny little shivers running through him. And then he’s kissing her shoulder and her throat and she can feel that warm energy building up again. He kisses over her chin and hovers against her mouth once more. 

She opens her eyes to stare up at him, and raises a hand, palm pressed to his cheek. “Hey,” she whispers, and lets her thumb slide across his lips. 

He leans into her touch and his eyes go soft. He huffs out a breath, and answers the question she feels like she asked a lifetime ago. “I don’t wanna lose you. Not to HYDRA or your powers or anything... I...” His mouth pinches then, teeth clenched, and she knows what he wants to say. She can feel it, like a pulse of pure energy. She’s felt it for so long now, wafting off of him. She doesn’t need the words.

“ _Shhh_. I know.” She leans up, kisses him lightly. “ _I know_.” 

And he relaxes, tension leaching out of him. He nuzzles against her a moment before finally sliding down to lay beside her. She rolls over, tucks her head at his shoulder and her arm around his wast. And he’s quick to draw her in, tangle their legs and bury one hand in her hair while the other rubs soothing circles on her forearm. He kisses her forehead, says, “You should sleep,” against her skin. 

She hums, ‘cause he’s right and she’s tired, and her eyes slowly fall closed. 

His energy wraps around her, runs through her, and gives her a nice, calming buzz. She rubs her face against him, nose brushing the fabric of his tunic. She breathes him in and lets herself drift. She’s almost asleep, just on that precipice, when she murmurs, “I do too.” 

And she can feel his smile, feel the burst of joy and contentedness run through him. “I know,” he murmurs.

She falls asleep then, loved and in love, and it’s the best she’s felt in a very long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unfortunately, this will be the only chapter up tonight. i've been running around all day, and now i’m getting to bed much earlier than usual because i have a big practicum interview tomorrow. wish me luck! :) 
> 
> i will be continuing with the rapid/multiple updates tomorrow! let me know what you think!


	20. remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your legs are still weak.”

"Your legs are still weak.” 

“My legs are fine,” she tells him, sitting at the end of the bed as she pulls her shoes on. “Besides, they’re not going to get any better laying around all day.” 

He’s sprawled out on the bed, arms tucked behind his head. “So I’ll carry you everywhere.” 

Darcy rolls her eyes, even as a smile edges along her lips. As much as he’s arguing, she can feel the playful energy surrounding him. They’ve spent the last few days in their room, with periodic visits from Eir to make sure she’s not overextending herself. Apparently she passes muster, because Eir requested she meet her at the infirmary today so they can start training. Darcy was hesitant at first, but it seemed counterproductive to turn down the help Eir was offering. There’s no reason for her to be anything less than genuine and the fact remains, Darcy needs to know more about her abilities so she doesn’t end up draining herself  _for good_. 

“It’s just Eir. You  _like_ Eir,” she reminds him. 

He grunts, because he doesn’t want to admit it, but she knows he has a certain fondness for the healer. Maybe it’s because she shows no fear or intimidation of him, or maybe it’s because she reminds him of his mother, but he likes her. “If you get tired... or you need me for anything...” 

“If I’m tired, I’ll rest, and if I need you, you’ll know.” She stands from the bed then. Her legs still feel a little shaky, but she can tell her energy source is nowhere near as depleted at it was. And she’s more than a little sure it’s because of him and the way their energy twines together and shifts between them. She makes a mental note to ask Eir about it later. 

“What’re you going to do while I’m practicing?” 

He sighs, sitting up on the edge of the bed then and shuffling around for a tunic. She watches the play of muscle along his back and bites her lip, a warm, humming wave of energy washing over her. 

“Visit Heimdall,” he says, drawing his shirt over his head. “He wants to talk.” 

“Have you thought any more about Eir’s offer? With the arm and the tissue repair?” she wonders, searching around in the dresser for a light coat. She’s not sure where all the clothes came from, or how they were all in her size, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

It was nice to have new things. Things that were hers alone. The old clothes they used to get from thrift stores carried old scents and feelings that could be overwhelming depending on when they’d last been worn and by whom. But these were all hers, nothing but a whisper of an energy trail from the talented seamstress's hands woven into the fabric, and even then it only read of precision and pride.

He looks over at her from the corner of his eyes as he pulls his boots on. His hair falls to shield him some and her fingers twitch with the want to tuck it away again. 

“Don’t know how I’d handle anybody pokin’ and proddin’ at me...” His jaw tenses. “Might trigger something.” 

Wary uncertainty wafts off of him, and she moves to sit to the left of him on the bed. She leans against him, arm to arm. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll support it. I’m sure the offer doesn’t have an expiration date, either. So you can wait until you think you’re ready, and then ask Heimdall to beam you back up.” 

He hums, rubs his flesh thumb into the palm of his metal hand. 

“Something else is bugging you...” She turns, rests her chin on his shoulder, and peers up at him. “What’s up, buttercup?” 

His mouth twitches faintly, but falls into a line soon after. “Eir said if she fixed some of the damage to my head, I might get some memories back... Not all of ‘em, but some.” 

“Mmmhmm...” 

He takes a moment, grinds his teeth, and stares at the floor. “What if I don’t want to remember...? Some of the things I did, people I hurt...” He swallows tightly, and she can feel the tension coming off of him, taste his turmoil, hear his heart thumping unsteadily. “That selfish? Keeping my peace of mind when I took their lives?” 

“It wasn’t a choice,” she reminds him. “You didn’t willingly hurt those people.”

He grimaces. “Doesn’t make ‘em any less dead.” 

“No,” she agrees. “But you should have more sympathy for yourself. You’re not the monster. You’re a victim too.” 

“Maybe,” he allows. He sighs and shakes his head. “You remember...? What happened in the lab?” 

Darcy looks away, to the wall, and nods. “Every second of it.” 

“Does it help? Knowing what they did?” 

She thinks about it, about what it might feel like to add the confusion of not knowing what had been done to her or who she was or where she came from on top of everything, and she thinks it would be worse. But then she remembers how some of it felt. The strong scent of antiseptic, the taste of metal on her tongue when the needles entered her skin, the complete lack of empathy from anyone in the room. She could feel their curiosity, their interest, while she writhed in pain. Hear them hum and awe over how her body reacted to certain injections. She vividly remembers how inhumane it all was. How quickly she’d fallen into feeling like she wasn’t even a person, spiraling out of her own control. And the foam... The foam that curdled on her tongue and crawled up her throat; it sends a shudder down her body, revulsion and fear and pain all mixing together. 

He reaches for her then, an arm around her back and his hand wrapped in hers. “Sorry. ‘m sorry,” he says against her ear.

She lets out a whoosh of breath that makes her chest ache; she didn’t realize she’d been holding it. “It’s not... Remembering is a burden,” she admits. “But not remembering would be too. It’s... I know what happened, I know what they did, so I can deal with it. I can... I don’t have to wonder. But knowing doesn’t make me feel  _better_. It just means I have less questions. Does that make sense?” Her brow furrows as she leans against him. 

He hums, his hand soothingly rubbing her side. “I just... I don’t know who I’ll be if I remember.” 

She draws back from him then, catches her chin with her hand and lifts it. “ _You_ ,” she insists. “You’re always going to be you. I’m still me. I’m not the  _same_ me I was a year ago or a year before that, and I’m not going to be this me a year from now. We grow, y’know? We go through things and we learn things and we fuck things up and we just... We figure them out or we let them tear us down and we pick up the pieces. It’s a big, giant, screwed up mess, but it’s human.” 

He stares at her, leans in to press his forehead to hers. “You still gonna like me?”

“I think you’re stuck with me.” She smiles slowly, scrubbing her fingers under his chin.

“Good,” he says, and she can feel relief and hope and a warm, lulling energy wrap around her. 

Darcy slides her hand around to the nape of his neck and drags her fingers through his hair. “I want you to be okay. Remembering, not remembering, it’s up to you.” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Good.” She rubs her hand down his shoulder then and sits back. "Maybe try talking to Heimdall about it. And if you decide you want to do it, then I’ll be there; hold your hand through the whole thing.” 

He smiles faintly. “Don’t think they’ll let you do that, sweetheart.” 

“They can try and stop me.” She shrugs, and stands from the bed. “I should go. I don’t want to be late.” Balancing her hands on his knees, she leans in, presses a soft kiss to his mouth. She likes that; likes how easy and natural it is now. “You’re going to be okay?” 

He nods, drags his tongue over his lips slowly. “Sure your legs’re okay?” 

If he was going to keep licking his mouth like that, her knees would be shaking for another reason. She doesn’t tell him that though; she’s already running later than she wanted to be. “I’m fine,” she promises. 

“I’ll walk you.” He stands from the bed and grabs up his boots. “It’s on the way anyway.” 

“Okay.” She leans against the wall and waits for him to finish getting everything. He hides no less than four weapons on himself, and she’s neither surprised nor upset about it. They give him comfort. She doesn’t think anybody in Asgard will start anything with them, but she knows what it means to him to always be prepared. 

They leave the room together, the handle flashing blue as the door closes behind them to assure them it’s locked. As they make their way down to the front, the lady at the desk clears her throat. 

“Mister Barnes, Miss Lewis,” she says, less of a greeting and more a demand for attention. “I take it the room is still sufficient?” 

He looks back over his shoulder, but keeps walking. “S’fine. Doesn’t need cleaning.” 

She frowns at him. “I really must insist as it’s part of our policy on maintaining quality in--” 

“No,” he interrupts. 

She huffs at him, getting her chin up, and Darcy tugs on his sleeve to get him to stop walking before she turns to face the front-lady. “I’m sorry. We understand you have a policy. We’re just really protective of our privacy and we’ve had issues with places before. It’s not on you. You have a lovely establishment. I’ll be sure to tell Thor personally that you were so understanding of our circumstances.” 

The woman pauses, her brows raising every so slightly, and she nods. “Right, yes, of course. A customer’s needs must come first. We do try to accommodate wherever possible.” She smiles then. “Have a nice afternoon.”

Darcy nods. “Thank you...?” She waits leadingly. 

“Oh! I am Dagmar!” She curtsies then, and bows her head. 

“Thank you, Dagmar,” Darcy says, tipping her chin down.

He makes an impatient noise then and she rolls her eyes, elbowing him lightly in the side before she starts walking. Leaving the Inn, they finally start making their way up the cobblestone road. 

Since she’s spent the last while inside, it feels good to be out in the fresh air. She can smell fresh bread baking, feel the joy of children as they run past them in a game of tag, taste the magical energy that fills the air. She can also feel the strength of those around her; their physical abilities more advanced than her own or even his. She can feel her energy ripple with awareness; taking stock and preparing in the event of attack. His blue energy has threads of silver, crackling around it, sharp and a little wary. It’s not as bad as it was on Earth, where everyone was the enemy and his suspicion was on high. The comfort of knowing they were in a place where hardly anyone knew them was strong enough to hold even his paranoia at some length. 

Darcy steps a little closer, lets her cheek fall against his shoulder. “We should take more walks. I haven’t seen any of the village. And I can smell strawberries. Do you know how long it’s been since I had strawberries?” 

His mouth ticks up at the corner. “Yeah?” 

“I  _love_ strawberries. My mom and I trade off making dessert each year on Thanksgiving. My grandma handed down all her old recipes, but there’s this one pie that we  _always_ make. It has every berry you can think of in it; it’s delicious. I’ll make it for you one day.” Her nose scrunches up then. “I always burn the edges, but mom never does...” 

His hand squeezes hers lightly. “Aluminum foil,” he tells her. “Ma used to wrap it around the edges of pie crust.” 

Darcy scoffs. “ _No_... No way it’s that easy and I didn’t figure it out...” 

He shrugs. 

“All this time, I thought she was a pie genius. Magical pie touch. Nope. Just aluminum foil.” 

He snorts, looking down at her, amused and affectionate, and Darcy smiles, leaning against him. 

They come to a stop just short of the infirmary and his mood dips a little. It’s the first time they’ve really been apart since she woke up, besides bathroom breaks and him making trips to get them food, usually while she was napping. 

“You sure you up for this?” he asks. 

Sliding her arms around his waist, she rests her ear against his chest. “I’d tell you to stay if you want, but Eir thinks I won’t focus if you’re there. So she said no visitors.” She scrunches up her nose as she looks up at him. “If you get worried, I’m sure Heimdall will turn his all-seeing eyes in my direction. But honestly, I think we can trust Eir.” 

He hums, not quite eager to agree, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he drops a kiss on her forehead and rubs his hands over her shoulders. “I’ll be back in a few hours, check in, see if you’re done.” 

“Okay.” She untangles from him and tells him to have a good time with Heimdall before she turns on her heel to walk to the infirmary. She can feel him keeping an eye on her the whole time.

Eir is waiting outside for her, sitting on a bench and scrawling something in a book in her lap. She doesn’t look up as Darcy approaches, but she can feel a ripple of awareness run through the healer. She can also feel him as he leaves, content now that she’s with someone he knows. 

“You’re nearly late...” Eir muses, finishing her sentence before she closes her journal and raises her gaze to meet Darcy’s. “I’d wondered if you might change your mind.” 

“Thought about it,” Darcy admits. “But you’re probably my best hope at figuring this out.” 

“Yes. I am,” she says, quite confidently, and Darcy can’t help but appreciate it. “Come. I’ve arranged a training area for you to practice in. We’ll start simple.”

Darcy nods, takes a deep breath, and hopes she’s made the right decision. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry there was no update yesterday, my day ran a lot longer than expected. huge, big, appreciative thanks to everyone who wished me luck on my interview. it went AMAZING and i officially have a practicum placement with a fantastic community centre that i can't wait to start working at. 
> 
> anyway, i'm going to try and put up a few more pieces tonight to make up for the lack of them these last couple days! xo


	21. start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You seem troubled.”

"You seem troubled.”

He drags his gaze from the stars in front of him to look at Heimdall, standing above on his platform, dressed in gold armour, looking just as large and as intimidating as he did the first time he’d met him. But he’s grown comfortable around him; there’s just something about Heimdall that, despite looking like a threat, doesn’t feel like one. Maybe it’s that he constantly makes himself seem less imposing in an effort to make him feel less stressed, but it works. 

“Think I got a good reason for that,” he says, before walking over to take a seat on the stairs leading up to the platform, his arms resting on his knees. “Your eyes ever get tired, lookin’ at all this?” There’s a whole universe out there, star clusters so bright he’s sure Darcy’s advanced eyesight couldn’t handle it.

“Not physically, no. But the knowledge I have, the things I see... exhaustion is inevitable.” 

He hums, his lips pursed as he looks around absently. “You ever wanna be something else? Something other than this?” 

“I was born for this.” 

“Who decided that?” He raises an eyebrow, looks up at Heimdall then. He finds himself wondering if fate is real, and if he got a raw deal out of it. 

“All beings are born with gifts, some are just more subtle than others. They might live their whole lives searching for what talents they possess or they may not from early on.” 

“Sure. But it shapes us, doesn’t it? Shapes who we end up being.” He frowns. “What if you wanted to be Heimdall the Painter or the Baker or the Teacher.” 

“I suppose, if I felt that was the right choice for myself, I would have had to upset the path I was on to make it happen.” 

“You ever think about it? What your life would be like if you went down a different road?” 

“Is that what burdens you, James?” he wonders, and he takes a seat beside him with a lightness that seems unlikely for a man of his size. 

“Lotta things burden me...” He picks at his thumb with his forefinger; a nervous habit he remembers his ma always smacking his hands for. “I don’t remember what I wanted to be when I was a kid. But I don’t think it was this... Don’t think I ever planned to become this...” 

“Are you ashamed of who you are? Or that you were unable to defeat the people that made you?” 

He frowns, shakes his head, and says, “Both, I think... Darcy, she says I shouldn’t blame myself too much. That all the blood from all those people, it’s not all on my hands. I was a victim too.”

“Weren’t you?” 

“I don’t know.” He smiles, empty and bitter. “I don’t know if I was. Maybe. Maybe I was just an empty head they filled with directions. The gun the pointed or the dog they unchained. Or maybe I got a monster in me. Maybe I’m no better than any of them.” His legs bounces then, raw nerves and anxiety. “Dream of faces sometimes, people begging me to stop, and I...” His voice catches in his throat. “I  _don’t_ ,” he chokes out. “I don’t stop.”

“You were trained not to.” 

“Yeah,” he laughs, scraping a hand over his mouth. “Yeah, I was trained to do a lotta things.” He blinks, eyes stinging. “But I had to start somewhere right. They had to start with something. Someone they could mold.” 

“Emptiness is malleable. From the way I’ve heard it told, you fell from a train to your presumed death. A fall so great that it would have killed any other... Rather than die, you were injured. Loss of limb is implied, but have you considered that you lost your memory then first? Amnesia manipulated to fit their needs, and then the chair they imposed on you to keep you in a constant blank state. Without your memory, you did not know your enemy, and were manipulated into acting as they wanted.” He clasps his hands in front of him, loose limbed and at ease. “No one can rid you of your burdened conscious but you. But perhaps Darcy is not completely wrong in saying that you are more victim than monster.” 

He stares at the floor a long moment, lets the words sink in, before finally rasping out, “Yeah. Maybe.” 

They sat there a moment, in a comfortable silence, before he decides to break it once more. “Eir says she can fix some of the damage to my head. Might get some of my memories back.” 

“Is that something you desire?” 

“I don’t know.” He grinds his teeth a little. “Probably come back in time, on its own. But there are things I’d like to know, things I have questions about. Things I’ve done that maybe I should know happened.” 

“There is time to make your decision. You can stay in Asgard as long as you need.” 

He hums, plucking at his fingers absently. “Feels safer here, knowing there’s no HYDRA around...” 

“But?” 

“But we can’t say. Can’t hide here. Not forever.” He shifts his gaze back to the stars ahead. “What you said before, about how people don’t think about what life’s like after war, about how it changes ‘em... I’ve been thinking about that.” 

Heimdall raises an eyebrow at him curiously. “Do you have an answer?” 

He swallows thickly. “Darcy. I want her, I want some kinda life, I don’t what it looks like yet, I just... I know I want her in it.” 

“Aye.” He half-smiles lightly. “It’s a good start.” 

“Yeah. Figure I’ll start there, add some pieces as I go.” He shifts back in his seat, clears his throat. “Before, when we got here, you said you’d help any way you could.” 

He hums, nodding. 

“Was thinking we could train sometime. Me and Darcy usually work out together, but she’s got Eir helping her with some stuff. And she’s... more breakable than I am.” 

“So you have to be careful with her,” Heimdall notes. “Aye, I will train with you. I know of others too who would gladly take the challenge.” 

“Let’s start with you, see where that leads,” he reasons. 

“Agreed. But should you change your mind, let me know. Hogun is an accomplished warrior and I believe you two would find common ground.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” He leans back then, elbows on the stairs behind him. “Hey, before I forget, any chance you know where I can get some strawberries?” 

Heimdall smiles slowly, knowingly. “Aye. I know of a place.” 

The topic soon changes, but a couple hours later, he leaves the observatory and returns to town. He stops at the shop Heimdall told him about to buy a basket of fresh, red strawberries. And then he waits for Darcy at the infirmary, feeling a little less burdened and a lot more hopeful. It’s a good start. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have another two parts but tumblr is acting up on me and both are saved in my drafts, so unfortunately they'll have to go up later today. :(


	22. breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Breathe.”

"Breathe.”

"I  _am_  breathing,” Darcy huffs.

“Breathe  _better_ then. Focus on it,” Eir replies, more than a little exasperated. “Count it out in your head.”

“What does breathing have to do with energy?” She cracks an eye open to look at the woman sitting across from her. “We’ve been doing this for a week and all I’ve learned is that meditation makes me sleepy.” She yawns then, as if she’s triggered a reminder in her head that a nap would be great. 

“Meditation is about taking stock of yourself. It’s separating from the physical and looking into the core of you. You’re thinking too much.” 

“I have a lot on my mind,” she mutters defensively. 

“The only thing that should be on your mind currently is  _breathing_.” Eir’s knees bump hers. “Breathe with me. Then you start at your toes...” 

Darcy closes her eyes, shifts in her seat, and listens. She hears the air entering Eir’s mouth, she can almost feel it as it brushes over her lips, cool on her tongue, flowing down her throat to expand her lungs. 

She shakes it off, tries to bring her attention back to herself. She inhales as Eir does, focuses on her own lips and tongue and throat, her own lungs and chest. And then she starts at her toes. She focuses on the shape of them, the ability she has to move each of them, the very tips leading down to the beginning of her foot. She focuses on the sole of her foot, the arch, the heel, the ankle, the top, the sides, all of it. She does this for her whole body, focusing on each and every part. Her energy shifts inside her, focusing on the parts of her that her mind wanders to. Yellow and white trails swirling all around; they’re strongest in her hands and feet, in the bends of her arms and her legs.  _She_ feels strong there, like those parts of her are reinforced in a way, padded or shielded. 

The deeper she breathes, the larger her energy force grows, spread out, full and bright, and as she exhales, it leaves her like dust, before it gets collected back inside, tiny particles that are drawn to her like a magnet calls for them. And then her energy spreads out, fills her whole, and makes her skin warm and tingly. 

“There you go, you’re getting it now,” Eir says encouragingly. "Let it flow through you, let it build, and then bring yourself slowly back. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes.” 

Darcy listened, her lungs full and her energy still buzzing inside her, and when she opens her eyes, she feels  _alive_  and very, very awake. 

As she looks around, she notices the energy around her seems more pronounced. She can see the field of energy moving in and around Eir more like its a physical part of her than something Darcy has to search for. She reaches for it, lets her fingers spread, and feels it flow toward her, gold with threads of pink and silver, it weaves around her fingers, touches hers but ultimately returns to Eir without fully binding. 

“What do you see?” Eir asks. 

“ _You_ ,” Darcy says. “Your energy. It’s strong.  _Very_ strong.” Her lips quirk at the corner.

“And what did you try to do there?” 

Blinking, she looks at her hand and then to Eir. “I don’t... I reached for it.” 

“And did it come to you?” 

“I... Yes. But it didn’t...” She huffs an irritated breath. “It didn’t take. I couldn’t... It pulled away.” 

“Have you taken energy from others before?” 

“Not... exactly.” Her lips purse thoughtfully. “Just his, I think. I don’t know. It just kind of... happens. I can feel it. It reaches out and mine reaches back and then it just kind of... moves between us.”

“So you share it then?” Eir stares at her curiously. “But mine didn’t. You couldn’t simply take it?” 

“I think I could... if I wanted to.” 

“Try.” 

“Are you sure?” Darcy watches her a moment, her brow furrowed. 

“Consider it an experiment. Take my energy,” she tells her, a command more than anything. 

So Darcy focuses, she stares at the energy in front of her and she holds her hand out again, calling it to her. She’s not sure  _how_ she calls it, she just sort of  _wills_ it to come to her. And it does. As if it has a mind of its own, it slowly crawls toward her, curiously shifting around her energy, like its testing it, weighing it somehow. But it tries to leave all the same and she tells it to stay, she reaches her energy out to it, watches them shift around each other like a dance, but Eir’s energy is still very much her own, separate and individual. 

“It’s not working.” 

“Try harder.” 

“I  _am_ trying.” 

“Clearly you aren’t or you would have accomplished it already. You have said it yourself, Darcy, it has been a week and you are already tired of these lessons. Show me you have learned something. Show me what you know--”

“I don’t know  _anything_. I never wanted any of this!” she shouts. “This isn’t something I asked for it and it’s not something I have control over! I--” She stops then, watching as pieces of Eir’s energy break off from her field and are sucked up into hers, making her own grow brighter and bigger. “It worked,” she whispers in surprise. “I took some of it.” 

Eir’s smile is knowing. “You have a trigger. When you get defensive or upset, you feed off other’s energy, it’s a way to prepare yourself in the event you have to fight.” Her eyes narrow thoughtfully. “That doesn’t explain James, though. Unless he was willingly allowing you to take energy from him.” 

“What, so now I’m an energy vampire?” Darcy frowns. “Great.” 

“More like a succubus, I’d imagine,” Eir says absently. “The energy you take from others reinforces your own. This is good.”

“What?  _How?_ ” 

“It means that whenever you’re in danger, your enemy is unwillingly putting themselves in a position to make you more capable of defeating them.” She takes a moment, considers something, and then shares her theory, “You said that you did not willingly take these powers on, that they were forced upon you. Perhaps your circumstances are what aided their growth. You were stolen from safety, kidnapped and hidden away, used without your say-so. All of the abilities you’ve shown would aid you in protecting yourself. Your heightened senses keep any from sneaking up on you. You’re able to tell if someone is being honest with you or if they have ill intent. You felt powerless in their custody and now you have all the power you could want for. You became your own shield, your own protection. You made sure that no one would ever harm you again.” 

Darcy doesn’t expect the bite of tears in her eyes; so much so that they startle her as she blinks quickly.

“This is a good thing, Darcy.” Eir reaches for, takes her hands and squeezes. “Sometimes, we are sent down paths that hurt us. We take turns we never expected and those we meet along the way do more harm than good. But we come out on the other end and we decide which way we want to turn. What those people did to you was terrible. But they did not destroy you. You’re here and strong and you’ll outlive them all.” 

She nods, her throat tight. “Doesn’t always feel that way.”

“That’s because we’re only beginning. You have more to learn about yourself and your abilities. But when we’re done...” Eir meets her eyes, the strength and certainty there is almost overwhelming. “You will see your enemies tremble at your feet.” 

Darcy’s breath whooshes out of her, relief and gratitude and hope buzzing around inside her. “ _Good_.”


	23. sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I told Eir I want the new arm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **head's up** : there is some sexual content in this chapter!

"I told Eir I want the new arm.”

Darcy shifts in the bed, lifts her head up to see him better. The candles are out and the room is shrouded in shadows. She can see everything in perfect clarity, but sometimes she makes her eyes soften, lets the edges of her surroundings grow  a little fuzzy. It’s a comfort thing, but it also reminds her of before, of having to squint at everything when she didn’t have her glasses or her contacts. It’s a strange thing to miss, she guesses, but she does, sometimes. 

Cool metal fingers stroke circles on her shoulder absently; she focuses on that. 

“You did?” 

He nods, staring at her hand atop his bare chest. “Thought about it, about what she said... This one’s too heavy. I adapted to the weight, but it still hurts sometimes. The nerves in my shoulder are raw; she says she can fix some of that. Some of the scarring might not heal, but she thinks she can get a lot of it.” 

She stares at him, waiting for him to say more; she can feel the words lingering at the end of his tongue, waiting to be spoken. 

“HYDRA might’ve put something in this one too. A kill switch or something, I don’t know.” 

“Maybe.” She rests her head against his shoulder and slides her arm up, fingers lightly tracing around his chin. “Any other reasons?” 

His teeth shift, grind together, and he licks his lips. “It’s theirs. The arm’s theirs. It’s attached to me, but they made it, just like they tried to make me.” He shakes his head a little. “I want to start over, start new.” 

She smiles then, shuffles herself a little closer. “If that’s what you want.” 

“It is.” He turns to her, meets her eyes. “I’m not theirs. Might not remember all of me, but even if I’m not whole, whatever’s left isn’t theirs.” 

Darcy’s heart lurches, and she drops her palm down to press to his heart. “You’re a whole person, you’ve just got a few more scars than the average human.” 

He watches her a long moment, gaze washing over her face, and then he turns himself onto his side, his stomach flush with hers. Her shirt’s ridden up a little and she can feel his warm skin pressed to hers. His hand settles heavy on her hip, thumb rubbing gently. 

“You are too, y’know? More strength than scar tissue...” He reaches for her face, drags a knuckle over her the curve of her cheek, "Screaming live wire.” 

“I didn’t do it on my own." She covers his hand, rubs her thumb over his fingers. “You’ve been there the whole time.” 

“Not soon enough,” he mutters, grimacing. 

“When it counted,” she insists. She strokes his hair back from his face, tucks it behind his ears. “You know you share your energy with me?” 

His brow furrows. “I do?” 

“Mmmhmm.” She nods. “Eir says I can only take it from someone if I feel threatened or defensive. Otherwise, they have to willingly give it to me, and you do. You’re doing it right now.” She looks at his chest, where blue energy reaches across them and twines with her own. “It’s a reciprocation thing though... See, you give me your energy, and it binds to mine, and then I send it back...” Yellow, white, and blue sifts back into his chest. “We share it, to protect each other.”  

“Not doing it on purpose,” he says, looking down at his chest. 

“No. But your energy knows how much you care, so it lets it happen.” She shakes her head. “I can teach you how to stop it, if you want. Eir likened it to a succubus and I don’t want to steal it from you.” 

“It helps you?” 

“I don’t know everything about it yet, but I think... I think it helps both of us. Gives us a boost somehow. Might be a few other upsides to it, I’m still figuring it out.” 

He hums, and his fingers sift through her hair before they trail down her back. “Leave it. Not hurting me any.” He shrugs. “’Sides, I like being connected to you somehow.” 

Her mouth turns up faintly and she looks at him. “Yeah?” 

He stares back. “Yeah.” 

She shuffles up and rubs her nose against his, mouth hovering just in front of his. “Connecting’s good.” She kisses him, slow and deep, and his hand bunches in her shirt, twisting it up tight in his fingers. She hums, sucking on his top lip, scraping her teeth over it. He grunts and pushes against her until she’s on her back. He slides into the cradle of her legs, one hand buried in her hair, and the other finding hers, fingers tied together. 

He feels good. Heavy and warm and open. He explores her mouth, tastes every inch of her lips, and then his face is buried at her neck, sucking and biting and marking her skin. He presses his hips down, and she feels him rub against her, hard and thick. She arches up into the sensation, feels him drag across her clit, and huffs out a little breath. The pressure feels good,  _really_ good, and she searches it out again. 

He untangles his hand from her hair and reaches down, fingers catching under her thigh and hitching it higher on his hip. He strokes down her leg, drawing circles and letting the cool metal of his fingers slide under the fabric of her underwear, stroking around her hip. She wants to reach for it, slide it down between her thighs, feel his fingers moving inside her. But this is good, this is okay, she can do slow. She can... 

He grinds down against her and a little whimper leaves her mouth. Her kisses up her chin, smiles against her mouth as he sucks on her lower lip, and she hooks her leg around his waist and  _flips_ them. He’s sprawled out under her, an eyebrow raised, amusement and want coming off him in waves. She cups his face as she kisses him, rocking herself down, circling her hips and enjoying the friction. His breath stutters, fanning against her lips, and she pauses. 

“Is this okay?” 

He nods a little jerkily. “Yeah. Just...” He stares up at her. “Been a while.” 

“Okay.” She drops herself down, chest to chest with him. “No pressure.”

His mouth quirks. “Don’t know about that. I’m feeling a lot of pressure.” He pushes up against her. “Didn’t say it was bad.” 

Darcy rolls her eyes. “Dork,” she mutters. 

He laughs under his breath, rubs his hands up her sides, under her shirt and over her back. She bites her lips, the calluses of his palms feeling good against her skin. He has rough hands, big too; they make her feel soft and dainty in a way she’s never really considered herself. While one hand travels higher, the other shifts lower, palm settling over the curve of her ass, thumb tucked under her underwear to stroke her skin. He squeezes, and she takes the hint for what it is, shifting her hips up slowly. 

She’s pretty sure the last time she grinded with a boy, clothes still very much on, was in high school, maybe freshman year of college, but this feels different. Intimate in a way those encounters weren’t. It’s not all hormones and reaching for personal gratification, it’s  _connecting_. She wants him to feel good, she wants to be the one to make him feel good. There’s so much bad, so much awful that follows them around, but not this. This.  _Them_. What they mean to each other. No one can touch that.

They rock together, exploring what feels good and what doesn’t, and what angles work a little better than others. And she laughs when her knee cramps a little and they have to turn back over. He looks light and happy and like everything she’s feeling. The energy moves between them, quicker now, and pulsing with life. 

It’s going to end sticky and uncomfortable and they’re going to have to clean up and change, but they’re not really thinking of that. She likes exploring their limits and each other and the trust it takes for him to be open with her about it. She likes how he feels and the warm sensation in her stomach every time he kisses her and the way his hands touch her like she’s beautiful and delicate. She has scars so many scars, layering her arms, and he kisses them all, smooth lips gliding down her arm, and she feels  _loved._

She returns the feeling, kisses the scar tissue around his arm and down down his chest, the healed over knife wounds on his ribs and chest, the hollows of his throat, that little scar on the underside of his chin. And she can feel his fingers tremble, feel  _all_ of him tremble, with that same consuming feeling of belonging, of being wanted and accepted and loved unconditionally. 

She can hear his heart hammering in his chest and the stretch and release of muscles, can feel the energy around him building and dipping, flowing in and out of her, until finally, it crescendos. 

He lets out a huff of air against her mouth, says her name in a guttural tone that makes her stomach clench, and then Darcy feels a flare of pleasure inside her that bubbles and bursts, spreading throughout her so abruptly, it leaves her a little dizzy. But it’s not hers, it’s  _his_. She can feel it ripple through him; feel his knuckles whine in protest as he grips the sheet under them so tight it nearly tears. And just as he’s coming, her own orgasm rushes through her, sending waves of pleasure through her body so hard that she shakes. He groans, face falling to her neck, and she feels her own pleasure run through him like an aftershock that leaves him boneless. He falls on top of her, breathless, and she strokes a hand down his back, her eyes half-lidded and her body still shivering. 

“That was...” She’s not sure what that was, but it was  _amazing_. She can still feel fragments of it warming her down to her toes.

“Yeah,” he manages, very slowly pushing himself up and over so he’s lying next to her. 

She takes a moment, still a little overheated, and then turns her head to look at him. “Okay?” 

He’s still catching his breath, his eyes at half-mast and a faint smile curving his mouth. He hums in reply, “m’okay.” 

She grins, tucking an arm behind her head, and feels his satisfaction and happiness curl itself around her like a warm blanket. Eventually, they’ll try this again without clothes. But she’s content with this. She turns her head, drops a sloppy kiss to his arm, and smiles as he reaches for her hand, squeezing gently. She’s more than content, actually. 


	24. idle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're pining... It's not your best look."

“You’re pining... It's not your best look.”

“I’m not  _pining_ ,” he grunts, looking over at her from the weight bag, his fists still up and a frown marring his mouth. Sweats drips down his forehead, catches on his lashes and sting his eyes. He wipes his forearm across his face and takes a step back. “I’m... readjusting. It takes time.”

“This is how you plan to cope?” Natasha moves closer, an eyebrow raised and her lips pursed.

“You have a better idea?” He unwraps his hands irritably and flexes his fingers as his knuckles burn. 

She shrugs. “Better than Foster, I guess. She’s been in her lab for four days straight. Even Stark called it quits after three, fell asleep on the floor clutching a Thor pillow. I took pictures, of course.” 

He snorts, mouth ticking up faintly. “Of course.”

She eyes him curiously. “I talked to Maria. She said you’ve decided to stop chasing him. Give him some space to figure out what he wants to do.” 

“Seem like the right thing to do. He’s... made his choice.” He takes a seat on a bench, drags his duffle bag over and pulls out a bottle of water. “All I can do now is wait.” 

“Is it?” 

He frowns, rubs his face down with a towel behind he hangs it behind his neck. “What do you mean?” 

“Is waiting all you can do?” She shrugs a shoulder. “He has a mission. He and Lewis both. They told you it was theirs, but we both know that’s a lot to take on for just two people.” 

“Right...” He trails off, not sure what she’s getting at.

Natasha rolls her eyes, impatient with him. “So, maybe instead of sitting around,  _pining_ , you can make yourself useful.” 

“How?” 

“The whole time they’ve been on the run, he’s been training Lewis, getting ready for this fight, right?”

He nods. “Right.” 

“Chances are his memory is scattered, not completely there. Stark and Banner think the chair was probably used to wipe out large parts of his memory, make him more complicit. If he can’t remember who he was, he can only be who they see he is.” She puts a hand to her hip. “Lewis was only in two facilities, one in DC and one in London. She won’t have any knowledge of where the other bases are. We know from the HYDRA holes he hit, that he at least remembers some of the places he’s been brought or hidden. But I’d put money down he doesn’t remember all of them. And if they kept him frozen for years at a time, they have more bases out there that he won’t even know about.” 

Steve’s mind moves quickly, connecting the dots. “So we start sussing out all their strongholds. Use the people we already have. At the very least, we can make a dent in what he wants to deal with.” 

“Only way to show someone you’re worth partnering with is to prove you’re not expendable. So we take out the bases we know of; collect who we can, find out where the others are.” 

“Break it down slowly... Keep it quiet, nobody gets out to tell the others.” 

Natasha nods. “By the time he and Lewis get ready to fight, you’re in the fight and you’ve got all the chips for negotiating.” 

He rubs a hand over his chin thoughtfully. “Could backfire. He could feel like I’m forcing my way in.” 

“HYDRA’s hurt a lot more people than just him and Lewis. It feels personal for him now, but he’s not the only one that wants revenge. They infiltrated SHIELD, took us down from the inside out. And I have my own history with them... The fight’s coming to us either way. Might as well head them off at the pass.” 

Steve sits back a little, takes a deep breath. “At the very least, we can gather information, see what we can put together on where they’re stationed. Even if we don’t move forward, I can pass it on to Bucky as a show of faith.” 

Natasha quirks her head, and he can see she disagrees but she decides not to voice it, exactly. “If that’s how you feel when the time comes,” she hedges. 

His mouth lifts up, because that was as close to ‘yeah right’ as she was going to get. “We should run it past Hill.” 

“Already done.” She smirks then. “Ready to get reacquainted with the interrogation room?” 

He huffs out a laugh and stands from the bench. “Good cop, bad cop?”

“Of course.” She turns on her heel and walks to the door. “I’ll be the angel to your devil. It always throws them off.” 

Steve shakes his head, but follows after her, bag drawn over his shoulder. If nothing else, it will keep him from becoming idle. Waiting leaves him frustrated. This gives him something to do, something he hopes will help. And when Bucky comes back, maybe he’d have less of an uphill battle ahead of him. That alone makes up Steve’s mind. Any way he might relieve the burden a little, he would. Starting here.


	25. return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Concentrate.”

"Concentrate.”

"I  _am_ concentrating.” Darcy is pretty sure 99.9 percent of her training routines with Eir lead to her defensively saying she’s already doing the thing, only to learn maybe she could be doing it  _better_. Case in point--

“Then concentrate  _better_.”

She rolls her eyes, but takes a deep breath and focuses on the energy shield she’s produced. Unlike the giant  _wall_ she created to keep Jane, Rogers, and Friends from pursuing them, this only covers her, like a box that keep anyone from reaching her. “I feel like a mime,” she mutters. 

Eir ignores her, either because she has no idea what a mime is or because Darcy’s mutterings aren’t worth her attention. Probably both. “Make it stronger.” Eir presses a hand to it and Darcy watches the wall bend a little. It doesn’t break, but  adapts to the pressure. “Make it defensive.” 

“What, like, make it charged? Won’t that hurt you?” 

“I’m fully capable of handling anything you can produce,” Eir sniffs irritably. “Regardless, I will heal. The humans won’t. We need to see if it’s possible, and then we need to see how much it takes out of you.” 

“What if it drains me again? Like last time.” She frowns, not looking forward to the nose bleed or the exhaustion or the four day coma. Although she did like the subsequent cuddling time...

“Take stock of yourself, be aware of your energy. Feel it, take from it what you can, and don’t overextend.” 

Darcy jogs on spot, loosens up her shoulders and rolls her head around, before finally she spreads her hands out to the sides and concentrates. She can feel the energy spread out from her and form itself into the wall, thickening it, making it impenetrable. A wave of warning washes over her and she knows that it’s taking more than it should. So she draws some of it back, lets it settle inside her, and she feels her balance realign. 

Eir watches, head cocked curiously, and then she reaches out to press a hand to the forcefield. It doesn’t give this time, staying hard as stone, but neither is it charged. 

“You said before, when you panicked, that you sent out a pulse that knocked the others from their feet...” 

Darcy nods. “It didn’t hurt them though, it was just like wind, hit them hard and blew them back.” 

“Rather than electrifying the wall, perhaps you can use it to send out a pulse, incapacitate your enemy. Not just knock them over, but leave them unconscious. The wall is already created, so it won’t drain you more. You’re expending the same amount of energy you’ve already comfortably used.” She taps a finger to her chin and nods. “Try it.” 

Darcy hesitates. “If you’re right and this works...” 

“I promise you, I am capable of handling far more than your human counterparts. More than likely, it will knock me over but not out.” She takes a step back, clasps her hands, and raises a brow. “Well?” 

Darcy huffs, but eventually shifts herself. She focuses on the energy wall and then...  _stalls_. “I don’t know  _how..._ Before, I was worried about seeing Jane. I wasn’t ready. I panicked and it just sort of... happened.” 

Eir nods thoughtfully. “Try this then... Tell your body what you want it to do. Tell your energy to focus, let it feel you, let it understand what you want to happen.” 

She frowns, but takes the advice to heart and closes her eyes. She focuses on the energy around her, sends her thoughts, images of the pulse she’d let out at the warehouse, of the training area she’s in with Eir, surrounded by rocks and dirt and shrouded from view. In her mind, she dissolves the protective barrier, lets the energy form into a ring that expands and explodes outward.

There’s a noise then, followed by a thump.

She opens her eyes to see Eir sitting on the ground, blinking quickly and looking more than a little nauseous. “Did it work?” she asks, before hurrying over to take her hand and help her up. 

“It worked,” Eir assures, standing with the added support. “Tell me your process.”

“I did what you said. I visualized what I wanted to happen and just... told my energy to do it. I guess it listened.” She shrugs then and feels a little empty all of a sudden. “What happens to it when I release it?” 

“I suppose that’s up to you. With most people, when energy is released, it dissipates, it’s used up and is replenished through food and sleep. The same can be said of you. But you also have the ability to call energy to you. Even if it’s not your own.” Eir dusts off the back of her dress as she says, “It’s  _possible_ that you could call the energy back to you, if it’s still there.”

Darcy’s mouth twists up thoughtfully and she lets her senses reach out, searches for the trail of her energy. She feels it dust the branches of nearby trees and across the mossy tops of rocks. Her fingers twitch at her sides and she reaches out, calling for it, picturing it float up off each surface and find its way back to her. 

It’s light, not as strong as it once was, but it returns to her slowly, collecting at her core and mixing with the rest, drawing off the other energy in her to re-power itself. She inhales deeply, feeling full again, and turns a smile on Eir. “Cool.” 

Eir huffs out an indulgent laugh. “You still have much to learn, but you’re coming along.” 

“So I’m your best student ever then, right?” She grins, hooks an arm through Eir’s and leads her to sit atop a rock when she still looks a little shaky. 

“You’re certainly my most interesting pupil,” Eir allows. “Now why don’t you work on your breathing exercises.” It’s an order more than a suggestion.

Sighing, she takes a seat on the ground. “Meditation still makes me sleepy.” 

“Self-awareness is exhausting. There’s a lot happening inside of you and you constantly need to be aware of it. Think of it like how you take stock of your surroundings, of people, always searching for an enemy. That’s how you have to think of yourself. Be aware of how high or low your energy is, of how you’re feeling and whether it’s affecting your abilities, of whether hunger or dehydration or lack of sleep make your powers dull or oversensitive. These are all things you must always be aware of. For now, start with your toes...” 

Darcy’s shoulders slump momentarily, but she knows Eir will only tell her to sit up properly, so she does and she takes a deep breath. She might complain from time to time, but she knows Eir is right. They’ve been doing this for a few weeks now and Darcy’s never felt more in control or more aware of herself. It was helping and the more she worked on it, the more she felt like she could take on anything that came her way. HYDRA, Jane, anything. 

As if the universe has heard her, she feels a shift in the air. Her head tips back and she inhales deeply, searching for the disturbance. And then she finds it. Lightening and thunder, cold rain, desert sand.

Thor is back. 

And he wants to see her.


	26. insight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s visiting Heimdall when Thor returns.

He’s visiting Heimdall when Thor returns. 

He appreciates, at least, that Heimdall warns him before he opens the Bifröst, giving him the option to leave or stay. He decides to stay, but stands from his seat on the steps and moves instead to peer out the window of the observatory at the universe before him. He absently takes stock of the weapons hidden across his body; there’s six today, yesterday there were seven. While he knows the Asgardians are built far more sturdier than him, anyone can be killed with enough effort. He doesn’t plan on taking Thor on, but he likes to prepared anyway. 

Thor arrives loudly; the bridge is far from quiet. It doesn’t startle him; he’s seen a lot of people come and go during his visits with Heimdall. He finds exposure lessens shock and discomfort.

“Heimdall, my friend, I apologize for the short notice.” 

“It was no bother. It’s good to see you back in Asgard. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” 

Thor lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Things on Midgard are... far more complicated than I hoped.” 

“Aye. Lady Jane is still struggling, I noticed.” 

“She does not seem keen to speak to me on the matter; she feels choices were made that were... a betrayal, of sorts.” 

“And do you think they were?” 

Thor considers the question, before eventually saying, “I think she’s angry and she needs someone to direct that anger at.”

He can feel Thor’s gaze on him then, but he doesn’t turn right away.

“I had hoped that the Lady Darcy has woken by now.” 

“She has. Her recovery was admirable, and she practices now with Eir to control her new found abilities.” 

“A better mentor I couldn’t suggest.” 

“Aye. Eir has taken to her quickly. She shows affection for both Darcy and James.”

At this, he snorts, and turns to see them. “She puts up with me.” 

Heimdall grins. “Which is as close to affection as Eir has ever shown. Trust me, if she did not like you, you would know.” 

He hums, and turns his sharp gaze toward Thor, taking stock of him. It’s not the first time they’ve met; that was when he hovered over Darcy while she laid unconscious in Eir’s soul forge, asking questions that he wasn’t sure Thor deserved the answers to. 

“I’m glad to see you’re faring well, James Barnes,” Thor greets him, bowing his head faintly. “Perhaps, if you’re not busy, you could guide me to where Darcy is... There is much I feel we need to discuss.” 

“Might not be too welcoming,” he warns. “She’s selective about who she lets close these days.” 

Thor winces briefly, but nods. “And I will honor her decision if she chooses to turn me away. But I’d still like to try.” 

He shrugs, pushes off the window and walks toward him. He looks to Heimdall then. “Same time tomorrow?” 

“Aye. I appreciate the company,” Heimdall answers.

He walks past Thor and out to the bridge then; the walk from one end to the other is usually calming for him. It lets him think, gives him time for his mind to wander. There are only the gates in the distance and Heimdall at his back, so he feels comfortable letting his guard down even more. But with Thor present, he finds his attention is sharp and focused once more. 

They walk in silence for some time, a certain weight to what isn’t being said. 

“Asgard has been treating you well?” Thor eventually asks, turning to look at him. 

He nods. “Been fine. Haven’t had any trouble.”

“You look more refreshed than last I saw you. I’m glad for it.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t bother hiding his skepticism, and Thor raises a curious brow. “Be easier for you, wouldn’t it, if we went back...? Darcy talked to Jane.” 

“Aye, it would,” he admits freely. “Is that what you fear? That I might convince Darcy to return to Midgard?” 

“Little bit,” he says, honestly. “It’s up to her. She makes her own choices.” 

“And you? Would you return if she chooses to?” 

He knows he’ll go with her if she does. Even if it means seeing Rogers and all the others. Facing their questions and criticism and suspicion. If Darcy goes, so does he. “Pretty sure you already know the answer to that,” he mutters.

Thor looks amused more than anything. “When I met my Jane, I was in a bad place. I’d made an error of judgement that could have detrimental consequences. I was arrogant and certain that I was right. I wasn’t. And I paid the price for that... Jane was kind. She, Darcy, and Erik invited me into their home, they befriended me, helped me even when I seemed... less credible than most. Falling for Jane was as quick as it was slow. Her passion and her intelligence and her willingness to do everything in her power to find what she was searching for were all things I admired about her. I still do. And she focuses those same things on Darcy now.” He shakes his head. “I know that Darcy wants distance, wants time, and I won’t change her mind. But I think you might understand what it’s like to love someone and see them hurting. If there’s an opportunity to help them, you take it.” 

He doesn’t have anything to say to that. He knows Thor’s right. That if something ever hurt Darcy, if she needed anything, he would do whatever he could. Which is why he’s hesitant to bring Thor to her in the first place. The topic of Jane Foster is one Darcy tiptoes around. But he saw the panic in her face, he felt how scared she was, could see how she struggled when Jane was there, reaching out to her, and she wasn’t ready. 

“Darcy needs to do what’s right for her,” he finally says. Because in the end, that’s all that matters. 

“Aye,” Thor says, “She does.” 

They’re more than halfway across the bridge by that point and he finds himself wondering something, but he’s unsure how to voice it. After a few false starts, he manages to ask, “You’re at the Tower in New York?” 

“Avengers Towers, aye. Jane has signed on to work in conjunction with Stark Industries for the time being. According to her, Tony had all the necessary resources for her search. I believe, currently, they are attempting to build their own Bifröst. It’s an admirable effort.” 

“You don’t think they can?”

“I believe Jane could do anything she sets her mind to.” 

He frowns, and raises an eyebrow. 

“The intricacies of the bridge are many and complicated. She would need more input from people who have studied it.”

“Like Heimdall.”

“Aye. But he would not tell her what she wants to hear; he has made his loyalties on this matter very clear. In all honesty, while I believe her intentions are good, right now I think she only busies herself to keep from facing the reality of her situation.”

“And what’s that?” 

“That not all things can be forgiven, and not all friendships last forever.” He shakes his head, a melancholy expression drawing his face. “Jane and Darcy were always very different people. Like sisters, I think. Strong and smart in their own unique ways and very rarely meeting eye to eye. But they walked the path together, until they were separated by force. And Jane, she carries that like a weight around her neck. That she should have noticed or done something or rescued Darcy herself.”

He thinks back to Jane in the warehouse, how small she was, narrow and thin and tired. Undernourished and exhausted. And then he tries to imagine her storming the HYDRA base he and Darcy were held in. Tries to imagine that tiny woman demanding that they give her friend back. If she’s as smart as he keeps hearing, he’s sure she would have found a way. Strapped a bomb to her chest and coerced them into giving up Darcy to save their own skins. Or created a diversion and snuck in through the back. Maybe she could have. If she’d had any idea where to look or what to do or what was going on or by whom. 

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Darcy was taken off the streets by any number of enemies, and the people who did it were not only thought to be long-ago defeated but had infiltrated the only government agency Foster trusted. So maybe it wasn’t on her, not entirely. She tried, didn’t she? That’s what she said anyway. Went to the police and SHIELD and begged anybody who would listen to help her. Figured out some kind of algorithm to track Darcy’s energy source and willingly chased her down knowing what HYDRA did and how it’d changed her. 

He thinks of Steve then. Of a HYDRA base in Germany and a steel bed under his back. Of pneumonia making his whole body ache and needles injected into his arms. Of fire and red skulls and ‘not without  _you_.’ He shakes it off, blinks himself back into the present.

“You blame yourself?” he asks, clearing his throat as he looks over to Thor. “For not finding her?” 

“Aye, I do.” His mouth presses into a firm line. “For Darcy’s capture and Jane’s poor health. I was supposed to protect them, to... To offer them what they did me. Kindness in my darkest days.” 

He nods slowly, and they step through the gates to Asgard. “Not too late to start, I guess.”

Thor turns to look at him then, a faint smile turning up his mouth. “Let us hope.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO! Ophelie ([usedkarma](http://usedkarma.tumblr.com/), who also runs [fuckyeahdarcylewis](http://fuckyeahdarcylewis.tumblr.com/)) made this [lovely fanart](http://usedkarma.tumblr.com/post/128347389045/inspired-by-the-fantastic-wintershock-fanfiction) with this story in mind, so be sure to check it out and like/reblog to show your love!


	27. twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Walk with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **trigger warning** : a lot of discussion of human experimentation in this chapter

"Walk with me?” 

Darcy stares at Thor a long moment, from where she stands at the center of the training area. Eir has already left, and while Darcy can see a trace of blue energy lingering around Thor, she knows he kept his distance so she could make this decision for herself. Had it been a few weeks earlier, she thinks she would’ve run. As soon as she felt him arrive in Asgard, she would’ve run away. But it’s not. She’s had time to adjust, to let her guard down, and maybe she’s ready for this. For Thor, at least. 

She takes a deep breath, considers how wary her energy is --it’s not defensive, just uncertain--  and then steps forward.

“You look much healthier than when I last visited,” he says, peering down at her. 

“Waking up from a coma helps.” She crosses her arms loosely over her stomach while he tucks his at his back. It reminds her of Heimdall, of how he accommodates their paranoia by trying to make himself seem smaller or less of a threat.

“You will have to tell me of your abilities some time. When you’re ready, of course.” 

She hums; maybe one day she will. He’s a good listener, she remembers. He was so loud when she first met him, demanding attention and obedience, but he grew a lot, even in that short time. Learned to ask questions, to listen to the answers, to embrace the silence. Darcy never used to be good with quiet; she used to feel awkward, like she needed to fill it somehow. She misses it sometimes; how very human she used to be.

They walk away from town, down a dirt road that edges along the woods. She can see sheep and cattle collected in a pasture to their right. If she concentrates, she can hear their teeth grinding away at the grass, smell the fertilizer on the ground and the sweat on the man fixing his fence. She turns her attention to Thor instead; his energy is nervous and rippling with a deep purple that she’s come to associate with guilt and sadness. 

“I owe you an apology,” he begins, clenching his teeth. “If I had acted sooner... If I’d taken the time to visit more often... Or if I hadn’t left so quickly after the incident in London...” 

“That’s a lot of ‘what if’s,” she murmurs. 

“Aye, and I’ve spent a great deal of time thinking on each of them.” 

“Yeah.” She nods. “Me too.” Swallowing tightly, she looks out over the grassy hill they’re walking across. “When I was there, strapped to their tables, I used to think up these scenarios. Like, you’d just come exploding through the ceiling and knock out everyone with Mjolnir. It’d happen so fast, no one would see you coming. And... And that was it. You’d just pick me up and take me away and I’d never have to see that place again.” She shakes her head. “But that didn’t happen. And neither did the other six hundred ways I thought you’d save me.” 

He nods, his expression twisted. “If I had known...”

“You would’ve come. I know. But you didn’t, and it happened, and there’s no changing it now.” 

Stress pours off of him, the inability to put the right words together is sour on her tongue. She knows that feeling. 

In the weeks after she was freed, while they ran together, hiding where they could, she’d sit with him, hold his hand as he struggled to figure out how to speak or what to say. She was still figuring out what the energy patterns meant then, but she understands them now. Like a whisper in her head that fills in the blanks for her. Him she knows well, better than anyone, but people are much easier to read now than they were in the early days. The intricacies of who they are, what they want and think and are about to do, she can see, feel, hear, smell, taste it all. 

Thor, she imagines, isn’t used to scrambling for words. He’s enigmatic, a prince, and well trained in the art of charming people. But this isn’t a situation where he needs to charm her, this is something more organic than that. 

“Help me understand?” he asks. “You willed my arrival, my protection, and I did not answer. I understand your resentment of me. But why Jane? Why keep your distance from her? Of anyone, I would think you would want to return to her.” 

Darcy takes a moment to gather her words. She plucks a weed masquerading as a flower from the grass and she twirls it between her fingers, the stem staining her fingers with dirt and a dusting of earthy energy. She’s not sure what tells her to do it, but she reaches out and takes Thor's hand as they walk.

“The day it happened, I was on a grocery run. You’d just left and... Well, fridge was empty. Jane underlined Poptarts three times...” She smiles faintly at the memory; it’s crystal clear in her mind. There’s affection there, even as she finds herself exasperated that Jane’s priority list reads as 1. Science and 2. Poptarts. She deals; she always has. “I called out to her when I left, but... she was too busy. Science was happening and nothing else mattered...”

She remembers the sidewalk under her heels, Katy Perry crooning ‘ _don’t make me your enemy_ ’ just as a hand coils around her arm and  _spins_ her toward them. The shock of it ripples through her energy and seeps into Thor. She can see her energy reaching for him,  _surrounding_ him, and his fingers tighten on hers.

“They picked me up a few blocks away. I had my iPod going, so I couldn’t really hear anything at first, just the music. Next thing I know, I’m being grabbed. I tried to fight them, but it all happened so quick.”  _Her bag crashes to the ground. “_ I didn’t even have time to get my taser out.”  _iPod shattering on the sidewalk, ear buds torn out, the noise of the city is so abrupt, so loud_. “I was just walking down the street one second and shoved in a van the next...” 

_It was so dark. She can’t see anything; she squints but she can’t see anything. She doesn’t think anyone is there with her; there’s a hollowness around her. So she screams and kicks, hoping someone, anyone, will hear her. Her knees sting from how she landed; her hands burn from banging on the van walls._

_And then a face, light filtering in from a little slat in the front. ‘Shut up or we’ll_ make  _you shut up.’ The shudder of fear, the knowledge that he_ means  _it makes her stomach drop to her toes._

_Time is bizarre; fast and slow at the same time. She doesn’t know where they’re going, but she isn’t sure she wants to stop. Stopping means facing whoever they are and whatever they want. There’s nothing she can do but wait._

"It was so bright out, when we stopped. I couldn’t see for a second, it hurt my eyes.” 

_She squints, keeps her head down, feels her feet scramble underneath her for purchase on the gravel, and then she’s inside a facility. Is she still in London? How long has it been? How will they find her? Do they even know she’s gone?_

“And I remember, when they threw me in the cell, just wondering how long it would take for Jane to realize something was wrong. I mean... You know her, once she starts, it’s hard to get her to stop.”

_What if she never notices? What if she just keep sciencing? What if she buries herself in work, falls asleep in her office, doesn’t even come looking for her? It could be days before she figures it out. Days she doesn’t have._

"So I was sitting there, waiting for them to come get me, for the interrogation to start, and I start cataloging all the people who can help. Would Jane go to the police? Can they do anything? Does she have the number to the Avengers? Would SHIELD give her that? Would they even prioritize me? I mean, I’m just an intern...” 

 _No one special_ , she almost says,  _Forgettable in the grand scheme._  

She laughs, thick and hollow; Thor’s hand squeezes hers so tightly it almost hurts. 

“And when they come back, there’s all these questions, about Jane and you and the rainbow bridge and I-- I have  _nothing_. I mean, I snark and I put them off as long as I can, but eventually they’re going to figure out that they’ve got the wrong person. This is just  _not_ going to go the way they want.”

_It’s not like in the movies. She always thinks they should be stronger, they should hold out, that loyalty should pad them from every injury, every demand, keep their fear at bay. But it’s not a movie, it’s her life, and it’s spiraling out of control. She has nothing to offer and they’re getting antsy; she can see them, can see the way they tire of the circle of questions getting no results._

"So what do you do, right? What do you do with someone who isn’t valuable anymore?” She shakes her head, her eyes wide and distant. “You kill them. Because you’re the bad guy and you grabbed the wrong girl and she is  _useless_. So you put a bullet between her eyes, toss her in a river, try again...”

 _The cell is cold; it’s so cold and empty. And_ clean _. She still wonders if there’s a service that does that. Does the same guy that drags her out of it also clean it? Does he wear rubber gloves as he scrubs her toilet? Maybe that’s why he pulls her arm so hard it feels like it’s just one more yank from disjointing. She paces sometimes, tries push ups like in the movies, but it does nothing to settle her nerves, just makes her arms hurt on top of everything else. She counts in her head. One more second, one more minute, one more hour closer to death._

Her throat is dry; it hurts to swallow. “But apparently they saw an opportunity I didn’t think of. Why waste resources, right? So the next thing I know, I’m on a table in a lab and no one looks me in the eye except to measure pupil dilation and everybody is taking samples of my hair and my skin and my saliva.” 

_‘Please stop, please! Look at me! Look! I’m Darcy! My name is Darcy Lewis. I’m a person. I’m a person. I am. I am! I have a mom. I-- Her name is Lauren. Lauren Lewis. Please, she’ll miss me. I’m her only daughter, I’m all she has! Please stop! That hurts! It hurts, oh god, it h-hurts. Stop, stop, STOP! AHHHH, fuck, stop, p-please, please, I’m Dar- I’m Darcy. I’m...’_

"And I’m being poked and prodded and scraped and cut and nobody-- Nobody comes. For months. For months, I--I’m just  _there_. Existing. Like a  _thing_ for them to play with.”

_Sometimes it doesn’t hurt. Sometimes she doesn’t feel anything at all. And it’s worse somehow. It’s empty and void and gone. She’s gone. She’s nothing. She’s no one._

_Who’s Darcy?_

_I don’t know..._

_I don’t know._

"And I used to, I-I’d make that dumb joke to Jane that I was her lab monkey, but I  _was_ to them. I was like one of those poor animals they keep in cages and test things on. I was nothing to them but an experiment and a tool and if I died... they’d just find someone else, start over, keep trying.” 

_‘It’s losing too much blood, we keep going at this rate and we’ll have to start over... Maybe Thirteen is lucky after all.’_

_They laugh. It’s funny to them. They don't care that she’s bleeding or choking or crying. They collect her tears sometimes, to analyze them, just like every other part of her. She’s an It. A number._

_Twelve. She’s twelve._

_There were eleven before her. Where are they now?_

_She knows._

_They’re gone._

_What were their names?  
_

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven._

_Did they have mom’s waiting for them, wondering where they’ve gone? Jane’s that never answered when they said goodbye? Thor’s that won’t come back? Come back. Please, come back. Where are you?_

_Where are you?_

_Where am I?_

_Who am I?_

_Twelve._

_I’m Twelve._

__~~One~~.  ~~Two~~.  ~~Three~~.  ~~Four~~.  ~~Five~~.  ~~Six~~.  ~~Seven~~.  ~~Eight~~.  ~~Nine~~.  ~~Ten~~.  ~~Eleven~~._  Twelve.  
_

“I’d hear sirens sometimes... My hearing was so strong, I could hear them miles away, and I’d hope... Every time, I’d hope they were coming for me.” 

 _I’m here! I’m over here! Please!_  

“Any loud noise, any time it rained, I could smell storms and lightening and feel thunder, and I’d hope... I’d beg whoever was listening, let it be you. But it never...” 

_‘Can you hear me? That’s how prayer works, right? I say the words, I think your name, I honor you, and you hear me... Can you hear me Thor? God of Fertility or something, right? I need you. I need... I can’t do it. I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to die like this. Please, don’t let me die like this...’_

A tear trickles down her cheek and she dashes at it with the back of her knuckles. “I was dying when he came back for me. I was... I could feel it. Taste it. I had a few days, at best. I couldn’t do it much longer.” 

_Her energy is dim, it’s quiet, it barely buzzes or moves or lights up. It’s grey. Not white or yellow like it once was. Just gray. Dismal. Like the walls and the floor and her skin. She can smell herself, rotting from the inside out. Death is putrid. And hers is overwhelming. Nobody notices. Can’t they smell her? Can’t they see her? She’s going to die like this. Chained to their wall, like a doll on strings, she only moves when they want her to. Dance, monkey. Dance. She can’t. She can barely breathe._

“And then he was there.”

_‘Did you see what they did to me?’_

_He lives in shadows, but she can see him. She might be dying but her eyes, they see everything._

"Not you or Jane or some jackbooted SHIELD agent or an Avenger I’ve never met. Just him.”

_When he pulls the cuffs from her wrists, blood rushes into her hands. She can’t hold herself up, can do nothing more than fall into his arm. He catches her, pulls her into his arms like she weighs nothing. Maybe she does._

"And he-- He killed  _all_ of them. Every agent, every doctor, every single person in the building. They were all dead.”  _Hysterical, joyful laughter bubbles inside her._  “And I was so  _happy_ , so  _relieved_ , I could cry. Because for just a second, it felt like it was all over, and I was free...” 

_There’s a motel room and the blanket is scratchy against her skin. It doesn’t smell like death and antiseptic here, just old laundry detergent and mothballs. She wants to sleep for days, years, maybe forever. Just close her eyes and curl up into a ball, let it all drift away. At least now when she dies, it won’t be in that room, surrounded by white coats. Here she dies as Darcy. Not Twelve._

_Never Twelve._

She sniffles, shakes her head and wipes a hand over her face, rubs her fingers under her eyes. “I don’t hate her. I don’t even know if I blame her. I just... I spent so long waiting for her that when I think about her, I’m there again. I’m on that table, I’m begging for her to find me, I’m wondering if she even noticed and... It hurts. It hurts thinking about that place, how helpless I was. I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to be that person again. I don’t want to be on that table or cuffed to that wall.”

_There’s a phone on the end table beside the motel bed. She still remembers the phone number to the flat in London. Is Jane there? Will she answer? Will she come? Does she remember her?_

"But I hear her voice, I hear it, and I think-- What if I never left? What if I’m still there? What if I couldn’t take it and this is just... It’s a hallucination. Because I had those. I had so many. And she was right there. She was right in front of me, but she couldn’t see me. She couldn’t hear me screaming for her. She... She just walked away.” 

_‘Jane! Please, Jane, I’m right here. Let me out! Janey, let me out! Please, just open the door. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t get the Poptarts. I’m sorry I never listen. I’m sorry I don’t understand astrophysics. I’m sorry I was the only applicant. I’m sorry. Just open the door, please, Jane. Please get me out of here. Please, please, please...’_

She realizes suddenly that she’s stopped walking at some point, that she’s staring at the horizon in the distance, and her energy is rioting all around her, threading in and out of Thor. 

He’s shaking. His vision cloudy and damp with tears. She releases his hand and feels her energy pull back from him and center back inside her. He blinks, wet trails sliding down his cheeks, and swallows tightly. When he looks at her, his eyes are a storm of emotion, of understanding and grief. Her defenses tremble; she feels them crumble underneath her. 

He steps forward, through the white and yellow energy that crackles and pops all around him. He wraps his arms around her tightly, draws her head to his chest, and hugs hers. Thor’s energy tastes like rain water dousing a fire. Smoky and clean at the same time. He swamps her; everything about him is so big and consuming and warm. His energy wraps around her, enfolds her like a second hug. His large hand cradles her head as his chin sits atop it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice thick and hoarse. “An apology is a paltry exchange for what you’ve been through... but I offer it anyway. I offer my home and my protection and my  _word_ that I will never let what’s been done to you happen again. And I know that I have to  _prove_ that to you, that I have to earn your trust again, and I will. I  _vow_ it.” His energy quakes with sincerity and  _certainty._  “If you need time, distance, anything, then have it. When you’re ready, I will earn your friendship again.” 

She doesn’t know what to say. What  _is_  there to say? Her arms are slow to wrap around his waist, but they find it all the same. And she closes her eyes, sinks into the solid support he provides. She lets him lull her into a state of peace and safety. 

“You never knew.” It’s more a statement, an acknowledgement, than a question. 

He strokes a large hand over her head. “Not until you had already been freed, and by then, you were hidden with James. When I was able to ask Heimdall for his help, he denied me, said that you had made your choice and you wished to be left alone. I didn’t understand at first. I was thinking more of Jane, of my own guilt, but I understand now. I... I felt what you felt. Perhaps just a shadow of it, but it was enough. Whatever your wishes, I’ll honor them.” 

She nods slowly, opens her eyes and stares out over the field, watching the grass wave under a gust of wind. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.” 

“If I write a letter for Jane, can you give it to her?” 

“I would be honored to.” 

Darcy blows out a heavy breath then. “You give good hug.” 

He chuckles lowly, from deep in his chest. “I’m glad you approve.” 

“I still... I need more time. Eir is training me and we’re figuring things out. But... We’ll come back. Eventually. Just... not yet.”

“You are always welcome here. So long as I have any say.” 

She tips her head up then and peers at him curiously. “Your dad’s okay with that? I heard he wasn’t too keen on Jane’s visit...” 

“Ahh, well.” His feet shift. “Father has more... pressing issues to deal with currently.”

She raises an eyebrow. “He doesn’t know we’re here, does he?”

“I told him of you and your circumstances when he inquired as to why I was spending so much time on Midgard. He was curious about your abilities, how far-reaching they are. He didn’t seem keen to meet you though, so I decided not to tell him of your whereabouts. So far as I know, he doesn’t know you’re here. He hasn’t been as... sociable since my mother and Loki’s passing, so he has fewer people to tell him that there are Midgardians among us. And both Heimdall and Eir have been very private about your lessons and visit... Few question Heimdall’s judgement. Still, it would be in your and James’ best interest to avoid the palace.” 

She nods. “Fine by me.” She untangles from him then. “We should get back. I need to write that letter and I haven’t eaten since lunch. All this practicing and emotional outpouring stuff makes me hungry.” 

He smiles gently and offers his arm for her to take. 

She hooks hers through it and lets him lead them back the way they came. It’s not perfect. She’s not completely ready to forgive and forget. But it feels good to finally say it aloud, to tell him why it’s so hard to be around Jane or him. To know that he would have come, that he cared, that he never meant to abandon her, it was just an unfortunate mistake. It doesn’t make it better, exactly, but it reminds her that she wasn’t forgotten or deemed less important. She still needs time to heal and move on, but she feels good about it. 

“So... James Barnes...” He looks down at her knowingly then. “Should I ask him his intentions with you?” 

Darcy snorts. “If anyone has any intentions, it’s me.” She shrugs. “We’re taking it slowly. We’re not exactly the most adjusted people.” 

Thor hums. “Growing up, my mother used to tell me a story of when she was very young, just a little girl. She used to keep a flower garden; it was her most prized possession. She refused to use magic, she wanted to grow the flowers herself, and she did. She kept the most beautiful flowers you could imagine. But each year, the snow would come and her flowers would die. Wilt and wither, and she’d have to start over. Every flower. Except one. Just one flower would make it through the snow, surviving against all odds. Later, when she married my father, she brought her garden with her, and the flower remained, for all the days of her life.” He looks to her then. “Sometimes something beautiful grows in the most deadly of environments, and it survives.” 

Darcy smiles slowly. “You’re a terrible sap, Thor. But... I hope you’re not wrong.” 

Thor smiles knowingly then and turns his gaze forward; she follows suit.

He’s waiting for her, sitting on a boulder near where she trains with Eir. His blue energy is almost serene, a little buzz around the edges that tells her he’s a little worried. Her gaze falls to his fingers then, where he twirls a flower by the stem. And her heart swells.


	28. scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You’re scared.”

"You’re scared.”

He laughs, a hoarse, cracked exhalation of breath. “’m terrified.”

Darcy sits beside him, her shoulder pressed to his. “About which part?” 

“All of it.” He closes his eyes, drags his hands over his face, and pauses as cool metal meets his skin. His brow furrows as he drops his bionic arm and stares at his silver fingers. “Nothing good ever happens to me on a doctor’s table.” 

“I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but this is different. Different doctors, different intentions. The people that made this arm, they didn’t care if it was too heavy or if you were hurt in the process...” Her fingers drag over the scar tissue of his shoulder. “Eir wants to reverse that. And if you called it off right now, if you stood up and you walked away, she’d respect it.” 

He knows that. He  _believes_ that. But it doesn’t stop some part of him from being terrified. “They’d fix me up before they fridged me again...” he admits, his eyes distant. “Make sure everything was in working order so the next time they thawed me, they didn’t have to waste time getting me ready. Just wait for me to warm up and give me a target.” He swallows tightly, licks his lips. “Scared if I close my eyes, the next time I open ‘em, they’ll be there. Gun in my hand, file on my next target waiting. No Eir, no  _you_... Just back to The Asset, doing what he’s trained to do.” 

“That won’t happen.” She reaches for his hand, presses her palm to his. “I forget sometimes too, you know? That this is real. That we’re out of there. Sometimes I think I’m still on the table, that I hallucinated the whole thing.” She squeezes his hand. “But you’re real. You’re real and  _I’m_ real and I won’t ever let them have you again.” 

He turns to look at her, sees the earnest certainty in her face, the ferocity in her eyes. “Never?” 

“Never,” she vows. 

He leans in, presses his forehead to hers, and sinks into the comfort she gives him. Her arm wraps around him, fingers combing through his hair soothingly. “Stay with me? Just ‘til they put me out.” 

“Promise.” 

They stay like that until Eir comes for them, hands clasped in front of her. “You look like you’re walking to execution,” she says, shaking her head. “Dramatic, both of you. Come on then, this’ll be the grimmest gift exchange I’ve ever partaken in.” 

He snorts, because she’s a little dramatic herself, and stands from his seat, his hand still holding tight to Darcy’s. They walk down the hall just behind Eir; the room everything’s set up in isn’t too different from Darcy’s. There’s a soul forge set up and waiting for him.

“I want to check your vitals before we begin,” Eir tells him, motioning toward it. “Once you’re ready, you have a choice. We can either put you to sleep for the whole procedure or you can go into a half-sleep, where you’re still aware of what’s happening around you but you won’t feel anything. Others have told me it can be a dizzying experience and not being able to say anything or speak made them feel... isolated. But your comfort is what matters, so if you’re not sure you want to be completely out, say so.” 

He lays down in the soul forge, considering his options. Darcy holds his hand still, pulling up a chair beside the table. 

The energy above him lights up and flares to life, a bright blue that’s swirling chaotically before it spreads out in a reflection of his body, following his movements. He can see through it, see his organs pumping and his heart beating just a little too quick. 

“This what you see?” he wonders, looking to Darcy curiously. 

“I see the color. Not all the stuff going on inside. I can hear it though; blood in your veins, air in your lungs, heart beating faster than usual.” She nods, peering up at the energy with a faint smile. “I’m sure if I wanted to, I could hear you digesting food, but I’m not eager to try.”

Eir snorts, fiddling around with a few things. She reaches through his energy, moves it around, searches through his scan, focusing in on his arm. “You see this?” She motions to the pink energy surrounding his shoulder and a little down his bionic arm. “These are raw nerve endings that weren’t dealt with properly. And this white here--” There’s a cluster of it between his shoulder and his arm, mixed in with a spattering of grey, “--scar tissue. The white we can work with, the grey is too far gone.” 

His eyes wander upward, to his head above, where there’s more grey clustered around his brain. There’s white too, more than enough left for healing. “That’s the stuff you want to fix?” he asks, staring at it. 

She hums. “I don’t like the word ‘fix,’ I prefer ‘heal.’ You’re not broken, James. You just need a little help.”

“’m a little broken,” he mutters. 

“Physically, you’re in need of proper care. Emotionally, that’s something I can’t help you with. You move at your own pace, seek out the kind of help you need and want. Healing is an all over process. I do what I can, so do you, sometimes you need a third party to help with the rest.” 

He finds himself wondering if they have head doctors on Asgard, then he wonders if any of them could understand the kind of situation and circumstance he went through. Maybe they could, or maybe not. He’s not sure he’s ready to find out. 

“How much memory you think I’d get back?” he wonders. 

“How much do you have currently?” 

He shrugs. “Some. It filters back when it wants. I remember things, from when I was with them. Just... repetitive stuff. Protocols. But not... Not all my missions or a lot of my life before it. Little things, sometimes. How my ma smelled, sound of my sister’s voice, taste of ma’s meat loaf on big occasions... Charcoal on my fingers. I wasn’t the best artist, but I tried...” His brow furrows, mouth pursed. “Man on the bridge...” No, that’s not right. “Rogers.” Closer. “Steve.”  _Punk_. 

“Do you want to remember?” Eir asks. She peers down at him, the lines around her mouth a little sharper. It’s not pity; she never offers pity. 

“I don’t know.” His hand flexes in Darcy’s. “Can’t run from it forever.” 

“No, you can’t,” Eir says simply. “But sometimes we run because we have to, because staying still hurts more.” 

“Gettin’ poetic on me, Doc. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Her mouth hitches up on one side. “I’m a woman of many virtues.” She takes a step back then. “We’re ready to begin. I have a few colleagues coming in to help me with everything. Have you decided whether you want to be asleep or not?” 

He thinks about her warning, about being able to see everything but not being able to speak up, and it reminds him of when he was with HYDRA, only speaking when asked directly.  _Asset, report._ That, more than the rest, might just trigger him, and if he can’t hold himself back, he’s not sure what he’ll do. “Put me out,” he says.

“Are you sure?” Darcy asks, brow furrowed. 

He nods, licks his lips. “Be over quicker, right?” 

She rubs a hand up his forearm; he senses the pressure on the metal plates, but can’t feel her actual skin. “Whatever you want.” 

He lifts his head and drops it back to the table. “This arm gone. HYDRA taken apart.” He turns his head, stares at her a long moment, and says, “Strawberries.” 

She smiles slowly, her eyes soft, and she stands from her chair to lean over him, the tail of her braided hair brushing against his chest. “That what you want when you wake up? Hm? Strawberries?” Her. He just wants her.

There’s a ruckus near the door and he feels her tense up and then relax. 

“Just more healers,” she says, her eyes moving over them, cataloging them. “No weapons, no bad feelings, just curiosity.” She turns her attention back down to him. “Are you ready?” 

He takes a deep breath, because, no, probably not. But it’s his choice. He can get up, walk outta there, and nobody would stop him. And that’s the important part. Eir might complain that he was wasting an opportunity, like his ma did when he went to art school with Steve for a year even though he had a chance at a better job out of state. But Eir wouldn’t stop him. That’s what made her different. Made it  _all_ different. 

“Yeah. I can do it,” he says, maybe more to himself than anything. 

Darcy squeezes his fingers and leans down to drop a kiss on his mouth. It’s slow and soft and reassuring. He stares up at her, at her long lashes and her blue eyes. He feels her fingers run over his hair, tucking it behind his ear, and he loves her. God, he loves this girl so damn much. She’s strong and protective and she touches him like he’s not stained in blood, even when she knows, has from the day they met, that he’s covered in it. 

After everything she’s been through, all the ways they took her apart, she’s still standing, still fighting, still raging against everything that hurt her. She pulls herself together every day and she keeps moving, takes his hand and brings him a long with her, and he’s not sure... He doesn’t know where he’d be without her. He doesn’t want to find out. Because he could survive. He’s survived this long. But it wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t be this... happy. And he  _is_ happy. Here, with her, he’s happier than he ever remembers being. Even through the worst of it, the dark parts, the nightmares and the paranoia and the pain. 

“I’m here,” she tells him. “I’ll be here the whole time.” 

He nods. “Okay.” 

Eir appears on his other side then, an eyebrow raised. 

He swallows, looks up at her. “My head... fix what you can.” 

She meets his eyes, searches them, and nods.

Darcy shifts back then, stands upright, still holding his hand. 

Eir hands him a vial, and doesn’t comment on how his hand shakes when he takes it from her. He leans up, knocks it back in one gulp and hands it back. It’s sour on his tongue, but not the worst thing he’s tasted. 

Eir nods at him, her expression reassuring before she steps out of view. He turns his eyes to Darcy, feels her fingers gently smooth across the scar tissue of his shoulder. She reaches up with other hand and strokes his hair back off his forehead. 

He takes a deep breath, tries to relax back against the table. Exhaustion waves over him quickly, but he blinks his eyes open, keeps them on her. He’s regretting this a little, not the arm but going to sleep for it. So much can happen when he’s sleeping, things he can’t control. What if someone attacks? Or something goes wrong?

“You’ll be okay,” she says, she rubs her thumb under his chin, over a scar she seems particularly fond of. “I’m right here.” 

His eyes are heavy, they keep dipping closed; the muscles of his throat tighten as he forces his lids open. He feels frantic, panicked, and he sees the energy above him blink red. She rubs her knuckles over his cheek. 

“You know?” It sounds slurred, a garble of words that don’t make sense to his ears.

But she smiles. “I know.” Her thumb strokes beneath his eye. “Do you know?” 

He feels himself nod, just once. He knows.  _She loves him too._ He sighs, and his energy eases back to blue.

And then everything goes dark. 


	29. woven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _Darcy!_ ”

“ _Darcy!_ ”

He comes awake abruptly, sucking in air, his eyes moving wildly, panic burning at his edges.

“Shh, hey, I’m right here.” She’d been sleeping, curled up in a chair next to his bed. 

He’s still in the infirmary, set up on a different bed, a soul forge still monitoring him above. It’s purple, caught between blue and red. 

“Don’t move too much.” She unfolds herself from the chair and stands beside him, a hand anchored on his chest. “Your shoulder’s going to be tender for a while, just readjusting to the weight difference. This model’s not as clunky as the other one, real lightweight, and shiny. Eir said you might have a headache for a while too; she’s not sure how long it’ll last thanks to your super healing.” 

He blinks, still groggy, and turns his eyes down toward his arm. It’s still silver, but the pattern is different, like tiny scales instead of banded plates. 

“Before, it was mechanical, all cogs and wires, but this... This is energy-based,” she tells him, dragging a finger down his arm. 

He jumps, his eyes raising to hers. “I felt that.” It’s not just pressure, it’s her skin, and the slow drag  _tickles_.

She smiles. “That’s because your core is plugged into it. Your strength is its strength. Also, neat trick, if you concentrate on it really hard, you can make it look just like the other arm.” 

He looks down, his brows furrowed. 

“It has a chameleon affect; it’s not skin, it’s still metal, but these little plates can change color if you--” Silver melts away and in its place is his skin tone. “There you go. It’ll help in the field or to blend in, but that’s up to you. I kind of like the silver. It’s badass.” 

He raises his hand, wincing at the pull in his shoulder, but he doesn’t care, because he has two hands. The same color. He knows, if he touches it, he’ll find cool metal, but for the first time in seventy years, he feels like him again. 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until she swipes a tear from his cheek and then he swallows thickly. His arm color wavers and returns to silver, but it’s enough. 

He drops his head back, stares at the ceiling, and just tries to breathe. 

“Kind of looks like Thor’s chainmail,” she tells him, dragging her palm down his forearm. “Eir said it was crafted in Nidavellir. I guess the dwarves there are master blacksmiths. They make a lot of the weaponry in Asgard; they even made Mew-Mew.”

“Mjolnir,” he corrects absently. He read a book on Norse mythology in eighth grade; he had to write a report for school. He got an A.

“Yeah, that, the hammer.” She shrugs. “Anyway, they built this for you, since I guess Eir is a big deal and Heimdall asked them personally. They said nothing on Midgard can break it, probably not Asgard either, won’t even dent it. Because the core is tied into your own energy though, they said to take care of yourself or it starts to lose power. I guess that’s like normal humans though, if you don’t eat your Wheaties, you won’t have the energy to fight anyway, bionic arm or not. I guess this isn’t really bionic anymore, but you know what I mean.” She’s babbling, her voice a little rushed.

He looks over at her, finds her biting her lip as she stares down at his arm. “You okay?” 

“What? Me? I’m fine. I’m not the one who just had brain and arm surgery.” 

“You’re nervous.” She’s shifting her feet and leaning just a little to the left. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” She shakes her head a little, strokes her hand over his. “Do you remember anything? Eir said it might take a few days to notice anything or it might happen right away. She couldn’t get all of it, obviously, but she said a lot healed, even better than she expected.” 

He catches her fingers between his, rubs his thumb over her wrist and feels her pulse hammering there. 

“Read up on Norse Mythology when I was younger, feels a little ironic right now.” 

She offers up a faint smile.

He tries to think, tries to parse through his mind for something, anything, he couldn’t remember before. It takes a minute, more than a minute probably, but he sees himself in the reflection of a store window, his hair slicked back, suspenders hooked over his shoulders; it’s hot out, enough that his shirt is clinging to his back under his jacket. He sees a thin, blond man standing next to him, hands tucked in the pockets of his pants, mouth pursed in a frown. 

_‘I can’t afford that,’ Steve says, shaking his head. ‘And I can’t take your money.’  
_

_‘It’s not taking, it’s borrowing. ‘Sides, your mom deserves it. You said you wanted to get her something nice for her birthday.’  
_

_‘It’s too much, Buck. I’ll just... I can find something else.’ His shoulders slump a moment before he shakes it off. ‘C’mon, we’re going to be late for work.’  
_

_‘Yeah, yeah...’ He stares back at the window, lingering a moment longer._

“I went back.” 

“What?” Darcy’s looking at him, and he blinks out of the haze of his memory. 

“He couldn’t afford it. There were these... These gloves his ma wanted. Real soft, not cheap either. Steve wanted to get them for her birthday, but he didn’t have enough. Said I’d lend him the rest but he wouldn’t listen. So I went back, bought ‘em myself. I...” He snorts. “I charmed the sales lady into giving me a deal; took her out on a date the week after. Steve was pissed, said I shouldn’t have done it, but... Sara, his mom, she cried when he gave them to her. Insisted he take them back, but Steve refused. She wore ‘em every day. Never took ‘em off. She was so proud of those things.” 

Darcy smiles, she squeezes his hand gently. “That’s good. You’re remembering.” 

“Yeah.” It’s small, but he feels like there’s more. Like the dam is breaking and little by little, the water’s going to fill him up. There’ll still be stuff that isn’t quite right, holes where there shouldn’t be, but less holes, at least.

“I should get Eir, let her know you’re awake,” she says, taking a step back. 

He holds onto her hand. “Something’s wrong.” He watches her, feels a thread of worry run through him. “Something happen when I was out?” He looks her up and down but she still looks like she did when he fell asleep, wearing the same clothes, her hair tied back in a braid, a little messy now from sleeping on it. She’s got a mark on her cheek from how she was laying, but otherwise, she looks okay. No blood, no injuries, just nervous.  

She frowns. “It’s nothing. It’s dumb.”

He rubs his thumb over her wrist. “Can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.” 

“There’s nothing to fix. I just...” She shakes her head, drops her head back and stares at the ceiling for a moment. “I just got worried, that’s all.” 

“’bout?” 

She rubs her free hand across her eyes and then back, over her hair, and blows out a breath. “I thought, if you remembered, if it started coming back, that maybe you’d... I don’t know, you wouldn’t feel the same or something. Memories are big, they’re part of you. And maybe the old you, the you before HYDRA wouldn’t...” She groans. “I don’t know. I’m not saying this right.” 

He feels a weight in his stomach, heavy and hard. “You thought I wouldn’t want you anymore?”

“I don’t  _know_. I just... The old Bucky wanted different things. He wanted a different life. And I wasn’t sure... I mean, I didn’t know what you’d want when you woke up. Who you’d be. I just...” Her voice cracks and she closes her mouth, swallows tightly. 

He shakes his head. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“ _Because_. This... This is about  _you_. And if I said something, you might’ve changed your mind. It had to be your choice, not mine, not based on whether I was feeling insecure that day.” She rubs her palm over her forehead. “This isn’t supposed to be about me. It’s about what you need and want--” 

“I want you,” he interrupts her firmly. “Old me, this me, whatever. I just want you. Remembering’s not going to change that. Everything me an’ you did together, what we went through, that’s still all here.”

She shakes her head a little, grinds her teeth. “I was just worried. I don’t know. Like you’d wake up and maybe you’d... Maybe you’d want to go back or something. And that’s not...” She blows out a breath. “It’s not a bad thing, if you did. If you want to, you  _should_. I won’t stop you. I just...” 

“I don’t. I’m not ready to go back.” The idea of it still puts him on edge. “And if I was, we’d be doin’ it together.” He shakes her hand and draws her eyes back to his. “Me and you, that’s how this works.” 

She nods, reaches up to quickly dash away a tear. “Yeah. You’re right.” 

“Had to happen some time.” 

She rolls her eyes and leans down. Her kiss is meant to be quick and reassuring, he can feel it. But he reaches up, fingers tangled in her hair, and keeps her close, moving his mouth over hers. She sighs, relaxes into him, and meets each slant of his lips. He leans up, chasing her mouth as she finally tries to draw back. 

“Careful. Your arm.” 

“Feels fine.” It stings a little; there’s some pressure and tenderness around the shoulder, but he doesn’t say that. He just pecks at her lips, once, twice, three times, and rubs his thumb over her cheek. “You think you’re that easy to get over?” 

She meets his gaze, lets out a shaky breath. “I’ve never had a semi-amnesiac boyfriend before, sue me.”

His mouth stretches up at the corner. “First time for everything.” 

She huffs out a laugh, and then presses a hand to his chest, pushing him back down. “I was serious. Your shoulder is tender. And you might think you’re being slick, but I know it hurts.”

“Just a little. Still worth it.” He tucks his other arm behind his head, more for comfort than anything, but watching her eyes wander down his chest, lingering on the pull of muscle, he likes that too.

“I really should get Eir,” she says, but lingers next to him. 

“In a minute.” He reaches across himself, takes her hand and tugs, drawing her around to the other side of the table. She takes the hint and climbs on beside him. The other shoulder is too tender still and he doesn’t want to pull it and have Eir complain he’s already ruining her hard work. So he brings Darcy in on his other side, wraps his flesh and blood arm around her. 

She’s warm against his side; her head falls to his shoulder and he bends to kiss her hair. 

“Dreamed about you,” he says, stroking his fingers down her neck and across her back. 

“Yeah?” She hooks her leg around his loosely. 

“Yeah.”

“Was it our week-long date of all-you-can-eat?” she wonders. 

He shakes his head. “No, but there were strawberries.” 

Her lips split in a grin as she tips her head back to look at him. “I was going to get you some, but I was worried you’d wake up and I wouldn’t be there.” 

His heart squeezes in his chest, and he nods, kissing her forehead. “You were right, earlier.” 

“Earlier?” 

“Was dumb,” he says. “Thinkin’ I’d ever stop wanting you.” 

Her eyes are shiny, but she doesn’t cry. She just turns her head and presses a kiss to his chest, humming and nuzzling against him. “You feel better? With the new arm?” 

He looks down at his new appendage, silver and shiny and  _light_. He flexes his hand and he raises it up, ignoring her grunt of protest. “Gonna take some getting used to.” 

She reaches out, drags her fingers over the top of his forearm. “It’s beautiful.” 

It’s a weapon. Always has been, always will be. He’ll use it to take out HYDRA just like he would have the other arm. Only this one is his. This arm is  _him._ But she’s right, it is beautiful. “Won’t have to clean this one,” he tells her.

“Might need a good buffing sometimes, keep it super shiny. You can use the glint off it to blind your enemies.” 

He snorts, drops his arm down, hand resting atop his stomach. She folds their fingers together, and he can feel soft, warm skin. 

She lets out a little sigh, same one she makes every night when she’s getting tired, and he remembers he woke her up. “What time’s it?” 

“Late. Took a while to heal everything, the arm was the easiest part. Eir said you’d sleep through the night though. Super metabolism must’ve kicked in and broke down whatever she gave you to knock you out.” 

He hums, staring above them. Her energy is white and yellow. It’s knit itself through his blue. He can still see their bodies, but the energy itself is just one big blanket of  _them_. He thinks it’s fitting, that they’re a part of each other, inside one another, woven together. Even with his memories coming back, she’s still the most solid part of him.

She yawns, and he finds himself doing the same. Snuggling closer, she rubs her cheek down against him. “Just gonna close my eyes for a minute, then I’ll get Eir,” she murmurs.

He smiles faintly. No, she’s not. She’s going to fall asleep. He doesn’t say that though, because she’ll argue. She always does. Instead he rubs his hand over her back and he watches their energy dance above them until it lulls him into a deep, peaceful sleep. 

Turns out good things can happen to him on a doctor’s table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't had a chance to reply to all your comments from the last chapters yet. Today ran a little late and I have to be up earlier than expected or I'd reply now. So I will get to them all tomorrow as well as the comments on the latest two chapters. Thank you all so much for your support! It means so much to me! xo


	30. letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane is sleeping.

Jane is sleeping.

Thor finds her in her lab, cheek mushed atop a collection of coffee stained papers. He stares down at her, the expression on his face nothing less than gentle. 

When last he left, she was on the tail end of a three-day bender. Stark too, her partner in all things bridge building, is asleep on a couch nearby, head crooked at a funny angle, a bag of Veggie Straws on the floor, his hand still inside the bag. They’d been working together for some time now, ever since Heimdall had whisked Darcy and James up to Asgard. In the months since, Jane has exchanged few words with Thor, which he’s tried to understand. And, in many ways,  _has_ understood. But he worries. Worries about how small and frail she seems now, how tired and heartbroken she is, how the weight of the world seems to bow her narrow shoulders. 

He scoops her from her chair and thinks it says much that she doesn’t wake, her head merely lolling against his shoulder. He leaves her lab and takes the elevator up to the floor where her apartment is situated. JARVIS silently lets him inside and lights a faint path for him along the floor, leading him to her bedroom. He lays her down on her bed, removes her wool socks and rubber soled slippers, pausing a moment at finding that even her feet seem smaller. Guilt chews at the edges of his heart, a heaviness clogs his throat, and he blinks back the burn in his eyes. 

“What’re you doing here?”

He turns, finds her scrubbing her knuckles over her eyes. 

“Thought you were in Asgard,” she mutters, voice slurred with sleep. She tugs her feet from his lap and he watches them go, his brow knotted tightly. 

“I was. I’ve just returned.” 

She hums, leaving a hand against her face. He watches her chest rise and fall, wonders if she’s drifted back to sleep, but then she asks, her voice a little sharper, close to cracking, “Did you see her?”

The letter feels heavy in his pocket and he nearly reaches down, pats where it lays hidden. “Aye, I did.” 

The noise she makes is a bitter, strangled laugh. “So she was willing to see you and not me?” 

“She was... cautious. But, she seems... more healed. Healthier than she was last I saw her.” 

“Right. When she was in a  _coma_ ,” Jane mutters scathingly. “And I  _still_ wasn’t allowed to see her.”

“It was not my choice,” he sighs, shoulders slumping. “I know that you blame me. Actions were taken that you don’t agree with and I bear the burden of being the one to tell you why. I can shoulder that. Whatever choices I make, they aren’t to hurt you, they never are, but you’ve been hurt all the same.” 

He can feel her tremble, feel the bed shake just a little, and the slight inhale of her breath, the hitch in her throat, as she tries not to cry. 

“Do you blame me Jane? For not returning? For not finding her sooner?” He’s oft wondered if that is at the root of their troubles, though she’s never blamed him directly, not for Darcy’s kidnapping or the way she was treated.

Jane lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t... I...  _Maybe_. Maybe, I do. But I blame myself too. I blame myself  _more_.” She shakes her head, voice laden with pain and guilt. “I didn’t say goodbye. I heard her. I heard her call out and I didn’t  _say_ anything. I should’ve said something. I should’ve gone with her. I should’ve  _found_ her!” 

“You didn’t know.” 

“I  _should_ have!” she cries, sniffling as she rubs her hands over her face, swiping angrily at her tears. “I let them take her. I’m the  _reason_ they took her. And I didn’t save her. I left her there to rot. I trusted the people who  _had_ her! That whole time, that lying son of a bitch told me he was looking for her, and I  _believed_ him. I...” She laughs, high and bitter. “I believed him and she paid for it.”

“The things that were done to Darcy...” His voice grows dark as he remembers, as he feels an echo of the pain she’d gone through. When she’d held his hand, he could feel it, could hear her cries in his ears, feel her terror and pain and exhaustion, her  _defeat_... It shook him. The desperation, the hope that he would come, that anyone would come, and those final moments, where she gave up, certain she was going to die there. “The people that took her, they are to blame,” he says thickly. “That doesn’t lessen the guilt, I know. But you carry so much of it. You’re  _drowning_  in your guilt, and I want only to help you.” 

She doesn’t answer right away, just stares at the dark ceiling of her bedroom, silent tears slipping from the corner of her eyes. “What if you can’t?”

His heart hurts, aches with the sound of her voice, so hollow, so familiar. “I cannot bring you to Asgard,” he says, his voice firm. “I would, I want to, but Darcy has asked me...” 

“She  _hates_ me. Doesn’t she? She blames me.” Her chest hitches with the thought and she squeezes her eyes shut, a sob growing in her throat. “I deserve it. I- I did this. It’s my fault. I--”

“She doesn’t hate you,” he soothes, reaching for her, a hand laying heavy on her stomach. “She  _loves_ you.” 

Jane scoffs, shaking her head. 

“She does. She told me so.”

Sniffling, Jane wonders, “Then why...? Why run? Why won’t she let me near her? I don’t  _understand_.” 

He takes a deep breath. He wishes he could tell her what he’d felt and saw when he was with Darcy, what horrors had been wrought on her, but it was not his story to tell. “Before I took leave of her company, she asked a favor of me... She asked me to give you a letter.” 

Jane sits up then, her face blotchy and tear stained, cheeks almost sickly they’re so hollow. “Where is it?” she demands. 

He pulls the envelope from his pocket and taps it against his palm. Darcy had written it on the stationary at the Inn that she and James were staying in. She’d sat in the lounge downstairs, her legs tucked under her, scrawling with a feather pen, scrapping a few pages, deeming them ‘not right’ before she’d start again. 

James had hovered, bringing her a cup of coffee and a pastry, telling her that her energy was flagging. He was somehow less and more cautious around Darcy; worried for her safety but taking comfort in her at the same time. It was a curious sight to Thor. The file on the Winter Soldier was not light on detail, none of it kind, but Steven’s accounts of his friendship with James Barnes were far different. And Thor thought he saw more of James than he did of the soldier, even if there were tell tale signs of his keen mind for battle. 

Thor turned  in his seat at the edge of the bed and handed the letter to Jane, unsurprised to see her tear it open quickly, her hands shaking with nervous energy. She squints at the paper, leans over and turns on a bedside lamp, and then lets out a grunt of frustration. “I can’t... I can’t read it. My eyes are too blurry...”

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself,” he reminds her, and she flushes. 

After a moment, she chews her lip, and holds the paper out to him. “Will you read it to me?” 

“Are you certain? Perhaps you should rest, read it when your eyes are clear,” he suggests. It’s a personal letter, he knows, he’s not sure how much she wants to share this with him. Darcy hadn’t told him of what it said, but he thought he knew. 

“I can’t wait. I won’t be able to sleep anyway.” She shakes the paper a little. “Please. I... I need to know.” 

He hesitates a moment, but takes it from her, smoothing it out over his leg and staring down at the loopy writing. He takes a deep breath, looks over to see her leaning back against the headboard of her bed, knees drawn up to her chest and her teeth sawing over her bottom lip. 

“It’s okay,” she says. “Read it.”

He turns his gaze back to the letter, and begins.

“ _Jane, I’m not ashamed to say I’ve re-written this about six times, not counting all the times I’ve tried to write it in my head. There’s a lot I want to say and even with all these drafts, I’m not really sure where to start..._

_“I know you’re worried, and I know you’re looking, and I know that if I ask you to stop you probably won’t. Half the reason I signed on with your star-obsessed crazy is because of how passionate you are and how you never give up. I knew who I was hitching my wagon too when you drove us into the middle of a storm and pancaked an alien._

_“The thing is, I’m going to ask you to stop anyway. Not because I don’t think you can do it; if anyone can, it’s you. The thing is, Janey, is I know it’s hurting you. I know I didn’t stick around long when we saw each other at the warehouse, but I saw enough._

_“If you’ve got someone who’s supposed to make sure you’re eating and sleeping, fire them, because they aren’t doing their job._ _You know the rules. Three meals a day, protein bars in between, Poptarts only when you remember to get your eight hours a night. No exceptions.”_

Jane laughs there, but the sound is thick with emotion. 

“ _I’m not sorry I didn’t stay. I couldn’t do it. Not yet. And I know you think it’s because of you, and yeah, maybe some of it is, but not why you think. I’m not going to lie, I wanted you to come for me. I prayed for it. I begged for someone, anyone, to find me. And maybe I hoped it would be you. Maybe I wondered if you even noticed I was gone. Not maybe. I did. I wondered a lot. I wondered if anyone cared. And I definitely thought I was going to die there. Sometimes I still think I will. Sometimes I forget I got out. And that’s part of why I can’t come back yet._

_“ ~~I’m not who you~~  I’m not who I was. I’m still figuring out who I am. But there are parts of me, of who I used to be, that are gone now. It’s like when you knock over a vase and you glue it back together, the cracks are still there and it just doesn’t look right anymore. There’s no pretending it wasn’t broken. And I was. They broke me down and took me apart and I don’t know exactly who I’ll be when I’m all put together again, but I’m going to find out. _

_“Before this thing turns into its own book, I just need you to know that I don’t hate you. I never hated you. I missed you. I still do. I miss Friday night star gazing and Margarita Mondays and all those times you’d pretend you didn’t like the Bachelorette but it was the only show I could get you to put the science down for. You’re still my friend, Jane. I’d still drive into a storm with you and take on Dark Elves to save your life. But I’m not the same girl who walked out of that apartment that morning. I’m not the same girl they strapped down on that table either.  
_

“ _When I’m ready, I’ll come back. And maybe I’ll tell you what happened, all of the best and worst of it. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I know I’m still figuring things out and I know I have a score to settle with some Nazis. It’s just something I’ve gotta do. But when I come back, when I’m ready, I want to meet you, this new me, and I hope, when I do, we can start over._

_“Get some sleep, Janey. Eat something. Eat a lot of things. And let Thor in. He loves you, and you love him. Don’t let what happened destroy you. Trust me, it takes too long to put yourself back together after. And you’ve got science to do. With love and metaphorical poptarts, Darcy”_

He rests the letter on his leg once more and turns to her. 

Jane stares at the paper a long moment. She drags in a breath and then lets it out shakily. “She was okay? When you saw her?” 

“She has life inside her still. She’s a fighter; her spirit is strong.” He nods then. “She’s been practicing, learning the art of her new abilities from a healer there. You might remember her, she was who attended you when you were in Asgard.” 

Jane thinks on it a moment, her lips pursed. “Eir?” 

“Yes, that’s her. She’s taken Darcy under her wing. James too it would seem. As has Heimdall. He’s very fond of each of them. And he and James appear to be bonding quickly.” 

Her nose scrunches up and his mouth turns up faintly, knowingly. 

“He is not who the file says he is, Jane.” 

“He was an assassin for the same people that held her. Why is everyone so sure we can trust him?” she wonders, scrubbing her fingers back through her hair irritably. 

“He was a victim, just as Darcy was. Treated to their cruelty for much longer and used as a tool to do their bidding. You and Steven are not so different, both searching for the friends you’ve lost. Just as you know the heart of Darcy is still as it was, so Steven knows of James.” He stares at her searchingly. “Do you fear what he might do to her, or that she will want to stay with him instead of return to you?” 

She looks away. “Honestly? Both.” She sniffs, rubbing her hand under her nose. “He did... He  _seemed_ to care. I guess. And she... trusts him.” 

“Aye, she does. And he her. After what they’ve been through, I think it’s a blessing they both deserve.” 

Her shoulders slump. “I’m being selfish, wanting her to myself.” 

“Not selfish. You were worried for your friend, and you had every right to.” 

“I just want her to be okay. I... I just want to tell her how sorry I am.” She blinks quickly, her lips trembling. “I screwed it up. I screwed it all up. I just keep thinking about that morning, about her leaving to get the groceries, and how she called out to me...” She rolls her eyes, mimics Darcy’s cadence, “’ _I’ll be right back_.’ But she wasn’t... She didn’t come back. And I... I didn’t notice, not right away. There were so many things I did wrong.”

“Your intentions were good.” 

“Does that make it better? Does it make it  _okay?”_

“You cannot carry the burden of this so tightly. Mistakes were made. Time was lost. People were hurt. But hurting yourself to make amends helps nothing...” He sighs heavily, staring at her seriously. “Jane, I won’t watch you waste away on your grief and your guilt.” 

She grew still, her eyes falling for a moment. “Are you... Are you  _leaving_  me?” 

“I’m asking you...  _begging_ you, to heed Darcy’s words, to hear my own fears... You grow weaker by the day. You miss too many meals. You rarely sleep. You have worked yourself to the bone. Is it not time to rest? To relieve yourself of some of your guilt?” 

She tugs the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands and crosses her arms over her chest defensively. “I just wanted to bring her home. That’s all. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” 

“She is healing. She is safe in Asgard and she is telling you that she will come back, when she’s ready.” He raises the letter as proof. “Please... Stop hurting yourself.” 

A hitch in her breath brings her hands to her mouth in an effort to cover it. She shakes her head, tears filling her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I blamed you and pushed you away and--” 

Thor shakes his head and crawls up the bed to sit beside her. He draws her into his side, arms wrapped tightly around her, head bent to kiss her hair. When she shivers, he pulls the blanket up to cover them and readjusts them so they’re laying together, her body wrapped comfortably in his. “You owe me nothing. I only want you to be well.” 

She nods, burying her face against his chest, and clings tight to him. She cries herself out like that, trembling in his arms. He rubs his hand across her shoulders and down her back soothingly, letting her vent every awful feeling from her bones. 

Jane is half-asleep, cheek resting against his shoulder, when she murmurs, “I will.” 

“Hm...?” 

“I’ll get better. I... I’m still worried. Will be until I see her again. But... You’re right. I wasn’t taking care of myself. But I will.” She nods, taking a deep breath. “Thank you. For talking to her. For bringing me the letter... For staying with me.” 

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “There is nowhere I would rather be.” 

He can feel her smile, faint as it is, and he holds on just a little tighter. She’s still so small, so very frail, but there is spirit left, deep inside her, and it’s building once more. She will mend. And she will be stronger for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO!!! **[romanoffsbite](http://romanoffsbite.tumblr.com/)** made this seriously beautiful art for this story, check it out **[here](http://romanoffsbite.tumblr.com/post/128506486734/you-anchor-me-back-down-sarcasticfina-ill)** , and leave some kudos/reblog to show your love!


	31. morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He watches sunlight creep across the floor.

He watches sunlight creep across the floor.

Darcy leaves the bathroom and joins him back in bed, crawling across on her knees and draping herself atop his back. She’s warm and soft and she kisses the nape of his neck before she drops her chin to his shoulder. Her hand runs down the length of his silver arm. He sinks into her touch, and his fingers flex in reply. 

“How’s it feel today?” Her voice is raspy with sleep.

“Good. Not sore anymore.” He watches her hand slide atop his, fingers slatted between his own. He concentrates until the silver fades to his skin tone, stares at a moment, and then lets it revert back. “’s gettin’ easier to do.”

“You’re testing it out today with Heimdall?” 

He hums. “Wants to see how strong it is.” 

“You’re ready for that?” She rubs her chin over his shoulder. “On a scale of one to ten, how tender is it? Eir said not to overextend yourself. You have a lot of healing to do, even with the serum.” 

“’m fine. Promise.”

She makes a noise, and then presses a line of kisses down his shoulder blade. “I’ll be the judge of that...” 

He grins slowly, and turns himself over. She shifts so she’s still on top of him, mouth smoothing over his chest instead. Silver fingers tuck her hair back from her face and behind her ear. “Remembered something...” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhmm.” He trails his thumb over the arch of her cheek. “Was allergic to strawberries. Used to make me break out in hives.” He laughs a little. “Guess the serum fixed that.” 

“ _No_... Really?” She scrunches up her nose. “That could’ve turned out bad.” 

He shakes his head. “Still would’a got ‘em for you. Just dealt with the hives.”

Darcy scoffs, and rests her chin against his chest. “No hives.” 

His thumb slid down, rubbed along the curve of her mouth. “First girl I ever kissed, I was ten years old. Name was Carol-Anne. She slapped me so hard, my lip split.” He grins a little at the memory, fuzzy at it was. “I was pretty sure it was my technique, but it turns out girls don’t like being kissed without some kinda warning.”

“Imagine that,” she snorts. 

He nods. "Learned my lesson real quick.” 

“I bet.”

“First girl I fell for, her name was Jo... Lasted three months and she broke my heart. Worth it though. She was a good dame, I was just a shit boyfriend.” 

Darcy’s lips quirked. “I think you’ve gotten better with age.” 

He snorts, lets his eyes trace every inch of her face. “Liked dancing a lot. Spent a lot of time visiting dance halls and clubs.” 

“Might’ve changed a bit, but dancing is still pretty big.” 

“We’ll fit it in between meals.” 

“Yeah?” She tips her head, eyes half-closed as his fingers stroke through her hair. 

“Yeah. Dancing and food, that’s the makings of a good date.” 

She smiles slowly and looks up at him. “Pretty sure the company counts for something.” 

“Got the best date a guy could ask for.” 

“Those super-powered trauma victims,” she muses, “can’t get enough of ‘em.” 

His mouth turns up slowly. “We’re the special sort.” 

“Mmm.” She leans herself up and pecks his lips. “Limited edition.” 

He chases after her mouth, sucks on her bottom lip, and feels her sink into it. His fingers fan out over her cheek, and she covers his hand with hers, thumb rubbing along his pulse. They stay like that for a while, just trading slow, sipping kisses, content not to push for more. Until finally, she rubs her nose against his cheek and drops her head back to his shoulder. 

The sun is a little brighter now, morning creeping its way in steadily. “How long before you meet Heimdall?” 

“Couple hours,” he says, eyes falling to half-mast. “You meeting up with Eir today?”

“Mmhmm.” Her breath skitters over his neck. “Working on offense. It’s good my powers kick in when I’m in danger, but she wants me to be able to use them whenever, just in case.” 

“s’good,” he murmurs, drifting a little. “We should work on your hand to hand too.” 

“Yeah. Should.” She takes a deep breath, lets it out heavily, a sign that she’s falling back asleep. She stretches herself out on top of him a little more and reaches her arm down, fingers hooking in the waist of his underwear. Her nails scratch a little at his hip and he shivers in reply. “Cold?” 

He shakes his head faintly, rubs a hand along her back. “Go back to sleep. We got some time.” 

“Mmkay.” She rubs her face down against him, and just like that, she’s out.

His mouth twitches faintly. Used to take her a while to fall asleep, scared the nightmares would be too much to handle or she’d wake back up in that place. Even now, in Asgard, she still had rough nights where she’d jerk awake, eyes darting wildly, and then she’d see him, and relief would swamp her. He had more than a few nights like that too. But he found them less recurrent in Asgard; maybe it was the lack of stress or the security it offered, he couldn’t be sure. But he appreciated the extra sleep anyway. 

As the sun grew brighter, it glinted off his arm, and he flexed his fingers, reaching out. He could feel the warmth just like he could feel when Darcy touched him. Wasn’t perfect. It was still a metal arm instead of flesh and bone. But it was his. Only his. There was no casualty list attached to it, no history but the one he was making, and so far, with it wrapped around Darcy, it was exactly what he wanted it to be. 


	32. victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lay down arms, I mean you no harm!”

"Lay down arms, I mean you no harm!” 

Darcy pauses, draws back the energy she can feel exuding from her, and curiously eyes the woman in front of her. “Sif?” 

The energy she’d felt approaching hadn’t been menacing, only unfamiliar, and she’d naturally prepared herself. But this, she hadn’t expected this. Sif’s energy is silver with threads of gold and mahogany. She’s a steady pillar, a great oak tree, with deep roots and a strong center. She smells of honeysuckle and dirt, femininity and a long-fought battle, earth and beauty.

“Aye!” She smiles cheerfully, lowering her hands to her sides. She’s dressed a little less formally than the last time Darcy had seen her; gone was the metal plating of her armor and in its place are a comfortable looking pair of pants and a fitted tunic with attractive blue detailing around the neck. “Were you not expecting me?” 

She shakes her head slowly. “No... Eir said she’d meet me here. She’s not usually late. I was starting to get worried.”

“Lady Eir had some unexpected visitors to the infirmary. She’ll be busy until late this afternoon. She asked me yesterday if I would like to join you in your training. I thought she’d already spoken to you.” 

“ _Oh_. No. She didn’t mention anything.” Darcy leans back against the boulder behind her. “You want to help?” 

“I would be honored to. Lady Eir has made mention that much of your training is defensive. That your powers are directly linked to whether you feel you are in danger. I had thought that I might help you learn more offensive strategies. Especially as there may come a time that you simply don’t feel threatened, even if you are.” She smiles. “It is better to be prepared in any event.” 

“Yeah, we’ve been working on it, but it’s not easy. It’s mostly a lot of concentrating and trying to get my energy to do what I want it to do.” She shrugs. “I know some hand-to-hand though. Maybe more than some.”

“Ahh, well, that is what I would like to focus on.” Sif grins as she walks forward. “I regret that my own abilities with magic are non-existent. While I have known many who could wield it with ease, my own capabilities are better spent with a sword.” 

“Not sure how much sword work will help me in my kind of battlefield, but I wouldn’t mind learning anyway.” 

“Then I will teach you, and perhaps you can teach me some of your methods as well.” Sif held her arm out and Darcy took it, bracing her hand on Sif’s forearm as a sign of respect. “It has been my experience that women are much stronger when they support one another.” 

Darcy grins. “I agree.” 

“Wonderful. Then let us begin.” Releasing her arm, she steps back. “Lady Eir warned that you might worry about harming me, but I assure you, I am more than capable.” 

“You  _are_ a warrior.” She backs up then, brow quirked. “So, powers first? See if I can block an attack?” 

“We’ll test your block first, yes, but then I want to see how well do you in attacking. If you are the one on the offense, you may feel more confident, which could cause your powers to lessen themselves. We want you to be able to protect yourself in any instance.” 

Darcy nods, and then wonders, “Did Eir tell you who I plan on fighting?” 

Sif’s face fell, her gaze heavy and sincere. “I have heard of what happened to you in passing, but no one has broken your confidence. What you choose to share with me stays between us, and if you choose not to share, I will respect that as well.” 

She considers this for a moment, and then shifts her feet. “Were you ever... You’ve been a warrior a long time. Were you ever captured or... anything like that?” 

“There were many infractions made against my person. And in the early years, when I was still establishing myself and earning the respect of my fellow soldiers, there were many who saw me more as a trophy than a warrior. I will say that many have tried to make me a victim, and many have failed at doing so. Even the attempts had an affect though. The idea that someone might see me less as a person or as what I am and would instead will their own understanding on me. That... It frightened me as much as it angered me.” 

Darcy nods, feels a flood of cold emotion run through her. “I  _did_ feel like a victim. Like I had no control over them or myself or what happened to me.” 

Sif steps to her, a hand heavy on Darcy’s shoulder. “No more,” she tells her seriously. “You are who you choose to be, and if that is a fighter, then fight you will.” 

A smile spreads her lips, and it’s all teeth. “Let’s get this party started.” She steps back, reaching for the elastic band on her wrist, and pulls her hair up into a high ponytail. 

“Perhaps the celebration should begin  _after_ the training?” Sif suggests, looking confused. 

Darcy snorts a laugh. “It’s just a saying, it means let’s go, or begin.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Basically, show me what you’ve got.” 

Sif looks more certain then and drops into a defensive position. “Do not hold back,” she tells Darcy. “As I will not.” 

“’Preciate it,” she replies, and feels her energy core stir up. But as Sif attacks, she doesn’t reach for her powers right away. Instead, she focuses on her previous training, learned in abandoned buildings and dilapidated farm houses. 

Darcy ducks and weaves and avoids every reaching arm and swiping leg. She feels the blood pumping through her, the adrenaline rushing through her veins, and her body bends at will. Any physical attack she throws won’t harm Sif, but it may harm her. It’s best, instead, to avoid being hit and calculate a way to neutralize her that won’t end in her own injury. 

“You’re agile,” Sif praises, smiling brightly.

Darcy jumps back, out of reach of Sif’s advancing legs and swinging arms. But there’s only so much room and eventually, her back is against a boulder, Sif’s hand around her throat, pressing her back and cutting off her air. 

That’s when she lets the energy ripple through her and lash out. She expects the pulse that has, in the past, thrown others. Instead, it reaches out like a rope and reflects what’s being done to her by tying itself around Sif’s neck, tightening until she is struggling to breathe and her skin is turning a violent shade of red. 

“Let. Go,” Darcy tells her, tapping the wrist of the hand around her neck. 

“An enemy... will not... surrender... Do not... hesitate...” Her fingers tighten on Darcy’s neck. “I can... outlast... you...”

She’s not wrong; while Darcy has a good hold, she’s not pushing it, and Sif is the stronger of the two of them. She’ll bounce back where Darcy won’t. If she were human, Darcy would break her hold, but the power imbalance makes that impossible. Or it should. Sucking in air, she focuses on her energy, and reaches too for Sif’s.

Silver, gold, and mahogony threads stretch from Sif’s core and reach toward Darcy’s, absorbed into her energy base. She feels her strength build, her energy grow. She releases from Sif’s neck, who gasps, her brow furrowed in confusion. And then Darcy watches her energy dive down abruptly, attacking Sif’s elbow. The blow forces Sif’s arm down and breaks the hold she has on Darcy’s neck. Darcy shoves her hands forward then, and a pulse of energy pushes Sif backwards, feed skidding in the dirt. Darcy doesn’t hesitate to advance. She feels the energy form around her fists and her feet, her elbows and her knees, reinforcing them for when she attacks. The added power of Sif’s energy makes her stronger. Not completely on Sif’s level, but enough that she’s a very real threat. 

Sif grins, enjoying the fight now. She looks eager to test Darcy’s limits, to see how far she’ll push herself, to force her into reaction instead of retreat. They run at each other, with Darcy twisting herself around Sif’s waist and flipping her over her shoulder. The Asgardian lands lightly on her feet and Darcy has to duck, narrowly missing a knee to the face. When she can’t avoid a hit, Darcy shields herself with her energy, forming a barrier between Sif’s attack and her body. But the reverberation hits her still, hard enough that she knows she’ll bruise even if she doesn’t break. She appreciates it though, each welt and bruise reminds her that she’s still learning, and she lands no shortage of her own hits on Sif. 

It’s a thrilling, if exhausting, experience, and by the end of it, Darcy’s both proud and very ready for a nap. 

They sit on the ground, backs against a boulder, sweaty and out of breath, but accomplished all the same. 

Sif nods to her. “You’re a good student, Darcy Lewis. And a strong opponent.” 

“Thanks, had a few good teachers.” She tips her head toward her. “You’ll come back again? Teach me some more?” 

“I would be happy to. Perhaps Eir and I can split our time, that way you can work on your powers and concentration with her and your more practical fighting with me.” 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she agrees, nodding. 

She winces as she shifts; every inch of her is sore, and it’ll only grow worse later, but it’s good. Great, even. Because she’s learning and getting better and she feels as far from a victim as she ever has. 


	33. soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier has been triggered.

The Winter Soldier has been triggered.

Heimdall sees it, see the shift in James’ countenance. He goes from playful, from joking and amused, to something else completely. His eyes grow hollow and his body tenses. He’s not certain of why or how it happened. They had been sparring as they usually do, with James searching for some unseen weakness to use to his advantage. There were children running past, giggling and shouting to one another, but neither he nor James had paid them much mind. They were well out of danger and paid no mind to their sparring. But something must have happened to have flicked that switch. And Heimdall is all the warier for it.

He watches him, standing tall and stiff, fingers flicking toward a place on his pants, as if searching for something specific. And when he speaks, an unfamiliar accent colors his voice. The All-Speak translates what Heimdall knows is Russian, but the words, the objective makes little sense.

“James,” he says, slowly and carefully. He holds his hands up in a sign that he will do him no harm. “James, it is I, Heimdall. I am not your enemy. I am your ally.”

“ _Asset, report._ Target unidentified. Target unknown. Mission details incomplete. Mission not translated. Mission... Target... Asset, report.  _Report._ ” His eyes dart from side to side, as if he’s reading something that Heimdall cannot see. Or perhaps he is stuck in his mind, in a memory of some sort.

“There is no target, no mission, James. You are in Asgard. You’re safe here. HYDRA has no control over you,” Heimdall insists, approaching still, watching for any sign that he might attack. 

James looks up then, sharply, and his eyes are  _void_. Gone is the man who asks where he can find strawberries for his lover, who looks for guidance in him, who’s learned to laugh again. This is not James, but a shell of him, frozen to the bone. “Mission accepted.” 

“James--” 

James lunges, producing a knife from the back of his belt. He swipes at Heimdall, advancing without pause, and his silver arm parries any protective measure that Heimdall tries to throw up. 

Still, Heimdall jumps back, avoiding the lethal edge of the knife coming all too close to his throat. “I do not want to hurt you, brother... Do not make me.” 

James doesn’t hear him. The Winter Soldier only seems amused, his teeth gritted as he wraps his hand around Heimdall’s forearm and flips him up and over. Heimdall gets his feet under him, but stumbles over the jarring throw. He falls into a defensive position, one hand outstretched to warn him off. James’ knife slices along the back of it, drawing blood, before he kicks out, catches Heimdall in the knee, and topples him forward. Heimdall throws a hard blow to James’ stomach in an effort to push him back and give them room. He raises to his feet once more, shakes off the ache in his knee, and rolls his head, cracking his neck. 

“The end you seek is not here for us. I will subdue you until your head is clearer.” 

James snarls, and lunges forward. So does Heimdall, but he bends low, catching James around the waist, and throws him over his shoulder to crash to the ground. He hits hard, but doesn’t linger, throwing himself back onto his feet and turning to face Heimdall once more. There is nothing but a predator there, circling his prey, searching for a good attack point. It’s not like before, when James had seen him as an equal, the Winter Soldier wants blood, he wants to  _kill_ him.

Heimdall takes a deep breath and steels himself for attack.

James tips his head, considers him a moment, and then rolls his silver arm back, stretches it. But he pauses, as if he feels something isn’t right, and turns his head to consider his arm. There’s a moment where the chaos recedes and he stares down at the arm in confusion. It blinks from silver to his skin tone and he stares down at his palm, stretching his fingers out and blinking wildly. He shakes his head, not understanding, and stumbles backwards a few steps. 

Heimdall follows him. 

When James looks up, there is only panic, but it quickly morphs into anger. Heimdall doesn’t wait, he jumps forward, catches James’ silver wrist and holds on tight as it threatens to overpower him. He keeps it steady and twists them so he’s at James’ back. Wrapping an arm around his neck, he squeezes, bicep pressed to James’ windpipe. “Calm yourself,” he tells him. “You are confused. Things will make more sense when next you wake.” 

James struggles, he repeatedly brings his elbow back against Heimdall’s ribs, but he won’t be moved, even as he feels them crack under each blow. James kicks his legs wildly, trying to push himself up and throw Heimdall backwards, but he stays upright, pushes back against the wall of power he offers. 

James whines, the sound of a wounded animal caught in a trap, but after a minute or two of struggling, he begins to tire, a lack of air finally catching up to him, and he slumps in Heimdall’s arms, limp and no longer a threat. 

Heimdall sighs and releases him from the hold. He pushes himself up from the ground and stares down at the man before him. Dragging a hand over his face, Heimdall shakes his head. This was not what he wanted, but he supposes it’s better that it happened here, with him, than somewhere else, someone who could have been seriously hurt. 

He reaches an arm down to haul James up and over his shoulder. They aren’t far from the infirmary, but he hopes that James won’t wake up in the meantime. Chasing him through Asgard, where others may be at risk, is not something he wants and will only end in misery for all involved. He sighs, wondering what, exactly, caused the break. And hopes, if they can find it, they may also be able to mend it somehow. He’s not certain what will have to be done otherwise, but he knows it won’t be good.


	34. guilty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wakes in the infirmary, alone and confused.

He wakes in the infirmary, alone and confused.

He remembers Heimdall, remembers sparring with him in the yard, and then... Then things get fuzzy. There was a moment. Laughter trickling through his ears. And suddenly he wasn’t in the yard across from Heimdall, he was standing the shadowy corner of an office, waiting for a mark to show his face. He was standing on a ledge, scope to his eye, waiting for the target to step into just the right position in front of the window. He was putting a bullet through a red head’s stomach to bullseye through another’s forehead. He was not James, he was the soldier, and he was nothing but death and destruction. 

He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. He can feel the faint burn of still healing muscle across his back and neck and knows he must’ve fought back. The memory of the children, of the laughter, suddenly hits, and panic chokes him. Did he hurt someone? The whole point of Asgard was that it was meant to be a safe haven. But what if it wasn’t safe from him? He reaches up, presses the heels of his hands down against his eyes and breathes deeply, trying desperately to remember. Asking himself, again and again, ‘ _What did I do?”_

He can hear voices, hear Darcy fighting with someone outside of the room. “--keep me out. He shouldn’t be alone. I can handle myself just fine.” 

“Darcy, please, listen to me. We have no idea what mental state he may be in right now,” Eir tells her. “We want to help him, help both of you. But we must be careful--”

“He’s awake. I can feel it. And he’s confused. He’s not dangerous. And even if he was, I know how to handle him.” 

The door swings open, but he doesn’t see her right away. 

“Just give us a minute, okay?”

“You will call if you need assistance,” Heimdall’s deep voice reaches out, a statement not a question. 

Darcy backs into the room, nodding. “I will.” She closes the door then and puts her back to it. 

After a deep breath, she pushes off and walks toward him. The room is draped in darkness, only lit with the swirling, chaotic energy above him, still stuck somewhere between blue and red. He can make out her figure, but not her features. 

“Hey, sleepyhead. How ya feelin’?” 

He watches her, frown pulling at his lips, and waits until she’s a little closer, until the light coming off the energy of the soul forge above her brings her into better focus. His heart stutters in his chest; she’s got a fat lip and a large bruise across her cheek. 

“Jesus, Darcy.” He sits up abruptly, reaching for her, but he stops himself, cringes, and pulls away. “I do that to you?” His energy lights up a violent shade of red and blinks angrily. He stares at her, terrified and guilty. “ _Shit_. Shit, I...” 

“Hey, you didn’t do this.” She shakes her head, her expression reassuring. “Seriously, this was Sif. We were training, that’s all. I promise.” She reaches for his hands, and he lets her, even though they’re shaking. “Look at me.” 

He raises his eyes, blinking quickly as they burn. “I fucked up,” he whispers. 

“You didn’t. You just...” She sighs, pulling him forward, and wraps her arms around him, drawing his head to her shoulder. “The switch flipped, that’s all. Something triggered you and you... lost control. But it’s okay. Heimdall was there, he helped you through it. You didn’t hurt  _anyone_.”

He chokes on relief, his eyes squeezed shut. “Really?”

“Really.” She rubs a hand over his head. “Heimdall says you were focused on him. Apparently you were pretty impressive, but he handled it.” 

He sighs, wrapping an arm around her waist as his shoulders slump, some of the tension bleeding out of him. 

"Eir thinks it was because your head is healing, that your memory is coming back and when something popped up, things spiraled.” She brushes her fingers over his forehead, tucks his hair behind his ear. “You remember anything?” 

He clings to her, presses his face down against her shoulder and just breathes her in. She smells like dirt and sweat and just a hint of the floral soap she uses to shower each morning. “Targets. I remember... I was on a mission, a few of ‘em...” 

“Okay. You remember the trigger?” 

He shakes his head. “Just the kids laughing. I...” His brow furrows. “It sounded familiar, I don’t know. One minute I was there, the next I wasn’t.” He blew out a heavy breath. “If she’s right and it’s because my head’s healing, what happens next time?” 

“We cope.” 

His fingers tighten in her shirt. “That’s not a solution.”

“It’s the only one I have.” She looks down at him, waits for him to tip his head back and see her. “You’re working through some serious trauma. You’re going to have slip ups. Nobody blames you.” 

He grinds his teeth. “Might not be Heimdall next time. Could happen anywhere. Could happen with  _you_. Wake up and snap...” His heart pounds in his chest. “Can’t risk that.” 

“Even if that did happen with me, I can protect myself.” 

She’s stronger than she’s ever been, he knows that. Her lessons with Eir are helping focus here energy even better. But that doesn’t stop him from being skeptical. If he attacked before she could wake up, if he killed her in their bed-- His throat closes and panic rushes through him. 

“Hey.” She rubs a hand down his back. “You’re worrying about something that might never happen.” 

“It  _could_.” He looks up, stares at her miserably, at the bruising on her face and the split in her lip. “You swear I didn’t hurt you?” 

“Pinkie swear. The only one you fought with was Heimdall and he’s made of tough stuff. He’s outside, he wanted to check on you.” She rubs her thumb over his cheek. “You didn’t hurt me. You never have.” 

He inhales deeply, tries to steady himself, but it leaves his lungs shakily. “I’m not safe to be around.” 

“Safe enough for me.” 

He scoffs, shakes his head. “s’not fair to you. Sticking you with me.” 

“I’m not  _stuck_ ,” she tells him, her voice stiff and unbending. “I make my own choices and I choose to stay with you, to  _be_ with you.” She rubs a hand over his chest soothingly. “You’re healing. Give yourself a break.” 

“What if I don’t?” He presses a hand to his eyes. “What if I don’t get better?"

“You’re  _already_ getting better. Look at how far you’ve come. Compared to where we started, we’re  _rocking_ this healing shit.”

His lips twitch. 

“Seriously. I know it’s hard. We have set backs and they screw us up for a while, but letting them control everything we do, every choice we make, that’s not going to help. We’re taking our lives back, remember? So we stumble a couple times, so what? We get back up and we keep moving. Just like we always have.” 

He moves his hand back from his eyes and looks up at her, staring down at him earnestly. “I don’t wanna hurt anybody,” he murmurs.

“Okay.” She takes his hand and squeezes. “Then you won’t. I won’t let you.” 

He swallows thickly, emotion welling in his throat. It’s not a perfect fix, but it’s something. And the truth is, he trusts her. Whether it’s to keep others safe or to protect him from the guilt, she won’t let him do anything he wouldn’t want to do. 

“Eir thinks talking about it will help. Doesn’t have to be with me, but somebody. She says figuring out the stressors and the triggers means you can prepare for them in the future, might even be able to warn someone that it’s about to happen. So we’ll start there, okay?” 

He nods, reaches his hand out and settles it on her hip. “We can talk later? About... About what I saw?” 

She smiles slowly. “Of course.” 

He gives her hip a tug. “Tell me about your training with... Uh, Sif?” 

She nods and shifts to take a seat on the edge of the table. He tugs her so she’s laying with him, wrapped up tight in his arms. Her head lays on his shoulder as she looks up at him, and his thumb rubs across her purple cheek, wincing in sympathy. He listens as she talks, nodding as she waves her hands around to mimic their fighting. 

Above them, their energy mixes together, white and yellow and blue. It melds into a blanket of two bodies. Her voice fades from his ears for a moment as he stares at the back and forth motion of his thumb on her cheek. And before his eyes, he watches the bruise fade from under his thumb, like he’s wiped it away. His brow furrows. 

“What?” she asks, watching his face. 

He shakes his head a little, slides his hand down and presses his thumb to her lip. 

Her nose wrinkles. “Tickles.” 

“’m not doing anything.” He stares down at the swelling of her mouth, watching it keenly. 

“Your energy, I can feel it...” 

The swelling begins to fade and he watches as the split slowly seals itself closed. She shivers and reaches up, her hand loosely holding his wrist. 

“Where else are you bruised?” he wonders. 

“I took a few hits. Sif is quick. Shoulders hurt a bit, and she kicked me pretty hard on the thigh, but...”

He shifts them up so they’re sitting and shuffles the neck of her shirt down her arm so he can see her shoulder. The skin there is a mottled reddish purple. He presses his hand against it and focuses. “You feel that?”

She shifts a little, tries to look back. “It’s warm, tingles a little.” 

“It’s healing.” 

“ _What?”_

He grins, his whole face lighting up. “You’re healing. Your face, your shoulder...”

She reaches up, presses her fingers to her lip and finds it smooth. “How...?” 

He shrugs; he doesn’t care much how, he’s just glad it’s happening. 

“The energy sharing,” she murmurs. “Eir said that I can take power, that I might be able to give it too, like when we do it, it’s always an exchange. What if... What if you can share your advanced healing? The serum in you isn’t perfect, but it still makes healing faster, right?”

He nods. 

“So what if I’m... I’m using some of it. Or you’re giving it to me, either way.” 

“Take whatever you need.” He slides his hand free of her shoulder when it’s smooth and pale and unmarked. He turns his attention to her thigh then. “Pants.” 

She snorts. “Romantic,” she teases, but unlaces the front of her brown leather pants. 

He reaches for the fabric at her hips and helps her shuffle them down and out of the way. The bruising on her outer thigh is a little deeper than the others; he hitches her leg over his lap and smooths his palm down her skin. She shivers, leaning back on her elbows, and watches him.

“Still tingle?” 

“Yeah, but for different reasons,” she tells him. 

His mouth hikes up on one corner. Palms laid flat over her thigh, he concentrates on her skin, on the bruising, willing it to heal. She bites her lip, leans her head over to see better, and watches as her leg slowly fades back to white. 

“Huh... That’s handy.” 

He rubs his hand over her knee. “You hurt anywhere else?” 

She looks up at him, half-smiles, and says, “Mouth is still a little sore. I think we should mix things up though, see if your lips have any healing abilities.” 

He laughs under his breath, but leans over to kiss her. She catches him by the collar of his shirt and pulls until he’s stretched out, half on top of her. Her arm wraps around him, fingers tangled in his hair. Humming, she says, “Yeah, definitely feeling something.”

He smiles against her mouth, sucks on her bottom lip and tucks a hand under her knee to pull her leg up and around him. The energy above them turns a pale green, right up until the door opens and they pull apart. 

Eir clears her throat as she steps into the room. “I see you’re feeling better,” she muses, glancing down at Darcy’s bare legs.

With a laugh, Darcy hops off the table and yanks her pants up. “It’s only kind of what you think.” She laces her pants and then points at her face. “Look who doesn’t have a fat lip anymore? And she’s glad too, because it makes kissing super awkward.” 

Eir’s irritation quickly fades as she strides forward and catches Darcy’s chin between her fingers, turning it from left to right. “No bruising, either.”

“He touched them and they just... faded away. It was great. I think it’s the energy sharing mixed in with the serum.” 

She hums thoughtfully. “It’s never happened before?” 

“Uh... Not healing, no.” Her eyes squint as she considers saying something more, and he has a feeling it’s about the night they spent getting intimate and the mutual climax they’d shared, quite literally. But she apparently decides not to tell Eir about that particular instance. “I think the energy sharing was a slow build in the first place, until we trusted each other. Like you said, he had to be willing to share it, because I didn’t know how to take it.” 

“Yes. I suppose the theory makes sense. If he has a healing ability and his energy is connected with yours, it may be trying to protect you in its own way, could even be more potent...” Her lips pursed thoughtfully. “It’s a curious circumstance. We’ll have to investigate it more.” With a shake of her head, she walks toward him. “How are you feeling?” 

He’s not sure why he was expecting her to be upset, to lash out and tell him that she regretted helping him at all, that maybe it was time he packed his things and left Asgard, but there was a part of him that was. And seeing her sincere expression of worry makes something in his chest crack open just a little. 

“I... ‘m all right. Things are a little fuzzy,” he says.

She nods. “Flashbacks can be like that. Your memories are still mending, they’ll come and go as they please. I want to be careful; it’s a sensitive process. But I do think it’s time you seek out someone you can talk to about your experiences. Be it myself or Darcy or Heimdall. Tell someone what you saw, as much as you can, and everything surrounding the moment so we can find the trigger. It might be something small, might not even make sense. But the more we know, the more we can prepare.” She smiles faintly then. “Your health and well-being are important. Just as important as anyone else’s. So rather than bury yourself in guilt, let’s work on finding a solution and getting you through it.” 

His throat is tight, too tight to speak, so he nods instead, and hopes she understands what it means to him. 

She pats his arm. “Good.  _Now_. Heimdall had to return to the observatory and I want to keep you overnight for monitoring.” She looks back over her shoulder to Darcy. “You’re welcome to stay with him. So long as your pants remain on.” The brow she raises then is meaningful. 

Darcy snorts. “You have my word that I’ll  _try_.” 

Eir tuts, but her exasperation is mixed with affection. Looking back at him, she insists, “ _Rest_.”

He nods again, and she finally takes her leave. “I’ll return shortly with food.” 

“Thanks,” Darcy calls after her, and then hops back on the table to lay beside him. “Hear that? You better keep your hands to yourself.” 

His mouth ticks up as he pulls her over, turning onto his side so he’s facing her. 

She reaches an arm around him and tucks a leg over his. “Tired?” 

He rubs his fingers over her hair, strokes it back from her face. “Little bit,” he admits. 

“Good. I love nap time.” She shuffles closer and rests her head on her arm. A few seconds pause before she sobers and tells him, “I meant what I said, you know... I’ll always keep you safe, even if it’s from yourself.” 

He leans in, presses a kiss to her forehead. “I know.” 

Her eyes close and when he lays back, she moves closer, rubs her face against his chest. “There is one good thing we take out of today. I mean, besides the whole healing thing...” 

His hand rubs circles on her back. “Yeah? What’s that?” 

“With a little work, we can even kick Asgardian ass.” 

She raises a hand and, with a laugh, he high fives her. He supposes that is a pretty big accomplishment. He’ll take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, only one chapter update today. At least it was a semi long one! I'm back to school tomorrow, so things have been a little hectic. I hope you like it though. I've been noticing a dip in the reviews over the last couple updates, so please try to let me know what you think!


	35. back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t hide in here forever.”

“You can’t hide in here forever.”

He shifts on the bed, looks over at her as she shimmies her pants up and over her hips. “Why not? Got everything I need in here.” 

“You need to  _eat_ ,” she reminds him, lacing her pants before bending to grab her boots. “We’re going to get food. In public. I don’t care if we just grab something and eat on a bench somewhere. We’re still leaving this room.” 

He frowns, dropping his gaze. “Something could happen. What if I get triggered again?” 

“Then we’ll deal with it.” She shrugs. “Starving yourself isn’t going to help anything.” 

“I’ll survive,” he mutters. 

“Yeah, well, I won’t.” Her stomach gives a growl then to drive her point home. “I know you’re worried, but you need to trust yourself. Setbacks happen. We work through them.” Pulling her hair up into a high ponytail, she ties it away with an elastic and then digs one out and tosses it to him. “C’mon, I want food.” 

He grumbles under his breath, but rolls off the bed and gets dressed, slowly, like he thinks she’ll give in. She won’t. They’ve been stuck in the room since Eir let him out of the infirmary with a clean bill of health. He’d walked back with her, paranoid about every sound and person, waiting for something to happen and for him to spiral away again. Nothing had. And he’d already told her everything he remembered, both before the trigger and during it. It wasn’t much, but at least he was sharing. 

When he’s finally dressed, he slides the elastic over his wrist and lets his hair fall to shield his face. She takes his hand as they step into the hallway outside of their room and doesn’t let go. Dagmar greets them as they pass and Darcy slows to a stop to ask her if there’s anywhere good to get something to eat. Directions in hand, they leave the Inn and make their way down the cobble-stone road. 

She can feel his energy pulse with worry and paranoia. His hand is tight on hers, almost too much, but she rubs her thumb across his soothingly and his fingers relax a little. His eyes stay on the ground, worried that so much as seeing someone might trigger something. She leads him to the restaurant slowly, hoping that if they take their time, he’ll lose more of the tension. 

Instead of pushing to sit inside, they order food to be taken out, and wait on a waist-high, stone wall outside of the building. She sits up close to him, leaning her back against his side, her legs stretched along the top of the wall. “Have you talked to Heimdall yet?” 

He grunts negatively. 

“You should. You’re obviously worried he blames you for what happened.”

“He  _should_.” 

Darcy sighs. “He handled it. And it’s not like it’s something you can control. A lot of people have PTSD. People who went to war and saw a lot of really awful things happen. You went through that  _and_  HYDRA, so it’s no wonder you’re struggling. But there are ways to cope. I don’t know if they have groups here for that, but I’m sure we could find one when we go back.” 

“Both of us?”

She looks up at him, head tipped back. “Yeah. I’ve got a few things I should probably work on.” Her nose wrinkles. “Just don’t let me take over the conversation, I over-talk when I’m nervous.”

His mouth kicks up at the corner. “Noticed.”

She snorts, nudges an elbow back against him. But he’s less tense, and that’s what she wanted. 

“You think about it much?” he wonders. 

“Going back?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Not a lot... But sometimes.” She draws a knee up and wraps her arms around it loosely, fingers knit together.

“You were happy?  _Before_.” 

Darcy’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I was... I don’t know. I was content, I guess. Before Jane, I was in college to get a degree in political science. I wasn’t really sure what I was going to do with it. My mom wanted me to do it though, she thought I should take it and become a lawyer because I argued  _all_ the time.” She laughs a little, shaking her head. “I don’t think law was for me though. It’s a little too...  _serious_.” 

“Yeah? Astrophysics isn’t?”

She grins. “It gets serious when aliens come knocking a time or two. But no, astrophysics wasn’t what I wanted either. I wanted to help Jane and it was the most exciting thing that’d ever happened to me. I just... I never really had a place, you know? Jane always knew what she wanted. She wanted the stars, to make a name for herself, to discover what was out there. When she wants something, she takes it. She throws herself into it. And I never really found anything I felt like that about. So I went to Culver, hoped I’d figure it out in a classroom. And I like political science, don’t get me wrong. But I still didn’t feel that click. So I chased Jane, followed her around on her adventure, hoped mine would come in time. I just figured it’d be a good one, not... what it turned out to be.” 

He nods. “Was still figuring myself out when the war hit. Went to art school for a while with Steve, found work where I could, but I didn’t know where I was headed, not really. War hit and there was no more running from it; suddenly I was Sargent Barnes. Then the only thing I wanted was to go home. Take whatever job that came as long as I was out’ve the trenches.” He’s quiet for a moment, thoughtful, and she can feel a thread of affection run through him. “Got a little better when Steve was there. Not perfect. Was still killin’ people, sleepin’ in the dirt some nights, bombed out buildings on others. But we had each other and that made it... survivable, I guess.” 

“You miss him.” 

“I...” Confusion warred with discomfort. “I don’t know. Think I do. Miss the guy I remember, or maybe the old me misses him.” 

“Maybe there’s no difference. Old you, new you, same you. Parts of you are going to change, we all grow, but they’re  _your_ memories, he’s  _your_ friend.”

“’m not who I used to be though. Not who he remembers.” 

“No. I’m not who Jane remembers either, not completely. But some of me is.” She turns herself, drops her legs down, feet on the ground, and sits beside him properly. “You’re still a good person. Only a good person comes back to save a complete stranger when they don’t have to. And you’ve helped me, even if you don’t think you have. Sticking with you all this time, it... I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t have you. Or who I’d be. But you kept me safe and you taught me to fight and we did this, all of this, we came this far because we had each other.”

He turns to look at her, and she reaches up to tuck his hair behind his ear. 

“You don’t have to be the person you were before you went to war or before you fell from that train. Just be who you are now. And tomorrow, be who you are then. The people that care, that love you, they’re going to grow with you and they’re still going to love you.” She reaches for his hand and fits their fingers together. “I don’t know Steve outside of what you’ve told me and what I’ve read in the history books, I know what he felt when he saw you in the warehouse. He loves and misses you. You’re his family. And I don’t think anything could ever change that. Not even HYDRA.” 

He stares at her a long moment and then leans in, presses his forehead to her temple. “He’d like you,” he says with certainty.

She smiles. “Yeah?” 

“Mmhmm. He had a thing for strong women.” 

“Man, he was lucky. Peggy Carter was my feminist icon.” She rubs her thumb against his. “When you’re ready to see him again, you can introduce us.” 

He’s quiet for a few seconds, and then he kisses her hair and says, “Okay.” 

A server from the restaurant comes out with their lunch a few minutes later and Darcy takes the carefully wrapped food from him. They take a walk out, find a field with a tree for shade and sit against it, sharing the food between them. She watches long grass sway in a breeze and wonders how long it’ll take for them to find this kind of peace again. She knows, when they go back, it won’t be easy. It won’t have the same feeling of complete safety. But it’s there and waiting and one day they’re going to have to face it. 

He holds up a slice of strawberry from the cake they ordered for dessert and she takes it from his fingers with her teeth. His mouth hitches up, amused, and he smears whipped cream across her lips. She laughs as he kisses her, leaning her back against the grass and pressing sweet, sugary kisses down her chin and neck. 

Her future is a lot less scary when she knows he’s part of it. 


	36. listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wondered when you would visit.”

“I wondered when you would visit.”

He pauses in the doorway to the observatory, a quick flash of shame flares in his gut, but ultimately he walks inside. “Darcy says I was hiding.”

“Ahh.” Heimdall turns to him brow raised. “Were you?” 

He shrugs, keeps walking until he finds the stairs to take a seat. “Yeah.”

“Have you figured out what from?”

He takes a deep breath, leans forward to rest his arms on his knees. “Myself, mostly.” 

“A likely foe.” 

Heimdall joins him on the stairs, his armor fading to something more comfortable, a loose tunic and pants. “You’re not hiding now. Have you slain your demons?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe a little.” He frowns, gaze falling to the floor. “I hurt you at all when, uh, things went down?” 

Heimdall chuckles lightly, a rumbling noise from his chest. “You put up an admirable fight,” he admits. “Your arm was particularly difficult to work around and you were... zealous in your pursuit. In the end, it was your arm that made you pause, not I.” 

“My arm?” 

“Aye, you caught sight of it and it... It flashed from silver to your skin and confused you, I believe. Regardless, it was pause enough. I was able to subdue you, let you try and sleep it off.” 

He grimaces at that, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “If it hadn’t... If I hadn’t stopped... Do you think you still could’ve taken me?” 

“Honestly? I do. It would have taken more power than I wanted to use, you may have been harmed in the process, but... In order to keep you safe, as well as others, I would have done my duty.” 

“Good. You should.” He reaches up, combs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t wanna be a threat here. I don’t wanna hurt anybody.” 

Heimdall nods. “Then we will take precautions.” He turns to him them. “That reminds me. I have spoken to Hogun and I think it would help you to visit with him. He would spar with you when I cannot, but I think he could also teach you things that may aid in your recovery.” 

“What kinda things?” he wonders. 

“Things I cannot.” He heaves himself up from the stairs then. “It is up to you. But I think it would be beneficial.” 

He hums, leaning back so his elbows are on the stairs. He’d think about it, he decides. “What’s going on in the Realms today?” he wonders. 

“Much.” Heimdall returns to his post behind his sword, Hofund. "A child takes their first step, a young woman takes a life, a man proposes to his boyfriend, a mother says hello, a father loses says goodbye. The world is full of great and terrible things, and great and terrible people.”

“Do you ever wish you could change it? Intervene somehow?” 

“Often,” he admits, his head tipped as he stares ahead. “There is a girl who stands under a bridge. She hopes her attacker will come to where he once assaulted her, that she might confront him for what his actions. She has a knife and part of her hopes that he will try again so she might make him hurt as he has her. The man will not come, I see him elsewhere, far from her, but she will linger in her pain and her fear. If I could have saved her from it when it first happened, I would have. If I could save her now, I would. But I am prevented from intervention. My duty is to see, not to change.” 

“You intervened for me and Darcy.” 

“You already knew of my kind, of Asgard. To interfere now would draw attention, questions, and if I do, when do I stop? Do I answer all cries for help? There is only one of me and so many of them...” He turns his head minutely and presses his lips. “A boy sits in his room with a bottle of medicine and a farewell letter. He has written and re-written it several times. He fears he will never be happy and cannot bear the agony of sadness... Do I intervene, James? I want to. I want to tell him that life is long and there are many hills, but quite frequently, when you reach the top, the other side is worth it. There is happiness to come. So long as you are there to find it.” 

“Hard choice to make,” he muses, frowning. “A lot for one person.” 

“Aye, it is. But I would not will it on another.” 

“How do you sleep?” he wonders. “How do you cope with it all?” 

“I try to focus on the good. The child that walked, the babe that was born, the people who love. And I hope that the next time, it will outweigh the rest.” 

He hums, shakes his head a little. “Sounds like maybe you need to talk to someone too.” 

Heimdall lets out a gruff laugh, and says, “I am.” 

It makes him pauses, as he hadn’t really thought of himself that way, as the one who listens. He thought he was putting all of his business on Heimdall, he’d never consider that it was mutual. “It help any?” 

“Aye. It does.” 

“Good,” he decides. “Keep it up then.” 

“If you insist.” 

He half-smiles. “I do. Got anything else you wanna share?” 

Heimdall takes a deep breath, and he settles in. Listening ain’t half bad. He still feels like he’s learning something and it’s nice to feel like he’s giving back. Heimdall’s done more than enough to help him and Darcy, this is the least he can do to repay him. 


	37. communicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Again_."

“ _Again_.”

Darcy is exhausted; her legs are wobbly and her arms feel like limp strings, but she focuses on the barrier she’s building around Eir. The last few days this has been all she’s learned, to project her energy onto someone else, to encase them in it like she had when she’d been fending of Eir’s attack in the earlier sessions.

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” 

“Because. If you create a barrier for yourself, you are unable to leave that spot. If you create a barrier around someone else,  _they_ cannot leave and you are free to flee.” 

“I might be able to move,” she says thoughtfully. “But it would take a lot of energy to create a barrier and keep it up constantly.” 

“Indeed. It is only meant as a protective measure when you are in unforseen danger and must block a personal attack. But if you are able to project it unto others...” The walls around her shimmer and she presses her hands against them to see if they’ll give. “Then you give yourself a fighting chance.”

“Only if there’s  _one_ attacker,” Darcy argues. “Chances are, there’ll be more than that.” 

“A good attack is a silent one. If you’re quiet then they will not see you coming and cannot alert the others.” 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but quiet isn’t really my forte.” 

Eir breaks a fist through the barrier and sighs. “Neither is concentration.” 

Darcy slips down to sit on the ground and the energy barrier falls away, returning to her sluggishly. “I’m just tired.” She wants to tip over and take a nap right there in the dirt, honestly. “It’s been three days and all I’ve figured out is that making my energy form around other people hurts like a bitch.” 

“Because it’s protective and it does not understand why measures are being taken to protect another,” Eir tells her, before calmly taking a seat in front of her. “You need to communicate with your energy, Darcy, like it is its own individual force. Tell it what you need from it, ask it to help you, and you’ll find it won’t resist so much.” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s talking back and it’s saying, take a bath and get some sleep.” 

Eir’s lips quirked with amusement. “And you will. After. For now, you will concentrate.” 

Darcy groans. “Meditation? That’ll make me even sleepier.” 

“It  _helps_ ,” Eir insists and then straightens her back and places her hands on her knees. “Begin with--”

“My toes. I know,” she sighs, but sits herself up and gets into position, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing. In and out, deep breaths, feeling her lungs expand and compress. 

Darcy focuses in on her toes and finds her energy is slow to reach any part of her. She’s been stretching herself thin these last few days, but maybe Eir was right. Maybe she needs to explain to her energy what she needs from it so it doesn’t fight back. Because that’s what it felt like. As if her energy thinks extending to someone else is an inconvenience, and an unnecessary one. 

With that in mind, she tries sending thoughts to the energy itself. Tries to tell it what the point is. That Eir believes it will give her more time to get away. Since her energy is protective of her, built more for defense than offense, she hopes it understands the importance of a good get away time. 

There’s a strange tingle that runs through, an electric zap to her fingertips and toes. Like her energy is telling her something, but she can’t tell if its positive or negative.  _Ugh_. She needs sleep. And food. And ooh, a  _bath_. Another zap to her toes and fingers and she starts to think it is positive. That maybe it’s trying to tell her that yes, she does need to rest, and yes, it does get why she’d want to send it to someone else. She’s not going to try again today, but she feels like maybe this whole communication thing isn’t completely wrong. 

She runs through the meditation motions, focusing on each part of her body and then going back through it again. It really does make her sleepy though, which doesn’t help when she’s already fighting a yawn. When she opens her eyes, Eir isn’t sitting in front of her, but instead on a boulder not far away, writing in a small book. 

Darcy eyes it a moment. “What do you write in that thing?” 

“It’s a journal. When you’ve lived as long as I have, some things you want to remember.” 

“Me complaining through lessons is worth remembering?” She snorts and pushes up to her feet. “I must be the most boring of that whole book.” 

“Not nearly,” Eir says, before finishing off her sentence and closing it. “When Jane Foster visited, I had to rethink my opinion on Midgardians. It is easy to come to the same conclusion as most, that Midgardians are archaic in their ways still. Not nearly as advanced or as intelligent as the other realms. They are the youngest of us all and are still growing in many ways. We forget that rather than seeing them as inferior, it may be better to view them as we do children. If we are the parents, our job is then to guide them in their journey. There are some things that people must learn for themselves, but there are others where it is good to have someone to lean on, to tell them they will persevere in the end.” 

“Is that what you’re teaching me?” she wonders. “That at the end of the day, I’m going to get through it?” 

“Some days, yes. Other days, you are teaching me.” She smiles as she stands and dusts off her dress. “No one is beyond learning. Now, come, I believe you have food and a bath waiting on you.”

Darcy hums happily. “Here’s hoping. I’m going to grab something to eat before I head back and then I’m going to load the tub up with those oils you guys have. Now  _those_ are magical. I feel baby soft when I use them. It’s great. I might smuggle some back with me.”

Eir laughs lightly. “When you choose to go, I will send you home with whatever you need, oils included.” 

“You sound like a mom sending her kid off to college... Only I’m going to war with a bunch of crazy Nazi-types.” Her lips pursed. “At least there’s no homework.” 

Shaking her head, Eir looked over at her with fond exasperation. “I will miss you once you go,” she admits. “I hope you’ll visit.” 

Darcy’s heart squeezes in her chest as she nods. “You kidding? We’ll be here every weekend with laundry.” 

Eir’s brow furrows. “It was my understanding that Midgardians had formed some understanding of how to launder their clothes by now.” 

Darcy laughs, her head falling back in her mirth. “We have. It was a joke that missed it’s mark. It’s fine.” She slings an arm around Eir’s waist and hugged her. “Seriously though, I will definitely visit.” 

"Good,” Eir says, short and simple, before she wraps her arm around Darcy’s waist in return. 

Darcy grins, because Eir can’t hide her sincere affection for her now that it’s out of the bag. And she was going to enjoy every bit of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be answering the comments for the last few chapters later today. Thank you to everyone who's left one, some of you have picked up on a few clues that I'm eager to discuss with you! :)
> 
> also, head's up, next chapter, which will be up later today, will have some more intimate bucky/darcy! ;)


	38. forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're beautiful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **head's up** : sexual content ahead!

"You’re beautiful.”

Darcy pauses by the dresser, wet hair hanging down her back. The overwhelming sincerity of his words makes her breath hitch in her throat and a fine tremble run through her. Her skin is still warm thanks to the bath, and steam curls out from the bathroom door. 

He’s sprawled on the bed, pants low slung on his hips, watching her from half-lidded eyes. Her eyes scatter across his face and down his bare chest, stretched long and lean, shadows playing over toned skin. She bites her lip and feels a coil of energy build up in his stomach and reach across to her. 

She’s wearing one of his tunics; it’s all she’s wearing. Her own clothes are balled up on the bathroom floor, dirty from training with Sif earlier. She feels clean now, warm and relaxed and  _focused_. Her eyes wander back up to meet his. “So are you,” she tells him. 

A muscle ticks in his jaw and her fingers flex at her side. 

“C’mere.” 

Her throat feels dry as she swallows. She turns on her heel and walks around to his side of the bed. He’s already sitting up, moving himself to the edge, and she appreciates the way the leather of his pants cling to his thighs. It’s no lie to say his body is beautiful. In fact, it feels like an oversimplification. She wonders sometimes, if he was like this before the knock-off serum had been fed into his veins. The history books painted him in a more lanky light, strong and capable, but still subject to the times. Living through the depression and then struggling through the war, she imagines it would’ve taken a toll on more than the mind. 

She stops in front of him, reaches out to let her fingers drag across his collar bones and then slowly climb up his neck. She can feel him swallow, feel the muscles tighten and relax. The stubble under his jaw tickles at her fingertips and she traces a scar with her thumb. With her fingers hinging on his chin, she meets his eyes. 

He peers back at her, a weight to his gaze that she call feel in the pit of her stomach. His hand catches around her wrist, cool metal on her warm skin, and he lifts her it, presses a kiss to her knuckles before she fans her fingers out, presses her thumb to his lower lip. Her palm slides up, across his cheek, and he leans into it, eyes falling closed for a moment. 

He reaches out with his other hand, the tips of his fingers grazing her thigh, just at the end of the tunic. She leans into the faint pressure of his hand to encourage him, to let him know it’s okay. 

They’ve done this. Not this, exactly. But they’ve slowly been building the intimate side of their relationship. Which included a conversation with Eir about contraception, and finding out that it was a lot easier on Asgard since it came in liquid form, protected against STI’s, and lasted a year. More that one, depending on the dosage, but she supposes that’s necessary with how long they all live. While the serum meant that he couldn’t contract, carry, or pass on STI’s, lucky him, she still wanted to be sure about herself. Active since the latter end of high school, she’d been lucky enough not to catch anything so far, but she hadn’t checked in a while. Though her last sexual encounter was a quickie with Ian shortly after the Dark Elves situation, and before that things had been dessert dry since Puente Antiguo and the end of a regular hook up with a cute local, she still thought it pertinent. With her clean bill of health and a knowing eyebrow flick from her mentor, she’d quickly left. One sex talk with her mother when she was thirteen was enough, thanks. 

He’s more keen to press the loosely set boundaries when a memory hits him. Things he used to do, used to be good at. They’d trickle back until he decided to see if he still could be. If the parts of himself that used to be talented with women, that used to have no trouble in the bedroom, were still in tact.

A not so distant night was spent finding out if he could still still make a girl come on his tongue. If his fingers were as dexterous as they once were. She wasn’t going to forget how good it felt, knees over his shoulders, his head between her legs, the slow, methodical movements of his tongue working her up and then easing away, only to return and begin the process again. He liked how loud she got, how she rocked herself up against his mouth, begging him to see it through. And god, the way it felt, her pleasure rippling through her and grabbing onto him, bringing him along for the ride. If she closes her eyes, she can still remember how good he looked, panting against her thigh, his mouth wet with her, his face screwed up as he fell apart. 

Darcy slides her fingers into his hair, combs it back and off his face. He leans his head back so he can see her better, and her fingers skim down the side, nails scraping lightly at the stubble across his cheek. 

Both of his palms settle on her thighs and slide up, climbing her legs to her hips, fingers flaring out over her skin. He tugs her a little closer, until she’s standing between his parted knees. Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against her stomach, and she scrubs her fingers through his hair and down his neck. 

His energy is content, that warm buzz he gets when it’s just them and everything else melts away. There’s an underlying heat, a simmer set on low, that flares and ebbs. 

Cold water drips from her hair and sluices down her back, making her shoulders rock as she shivers. His fingers tighten on her briefly and then start climbing her body again, palms sweeping over her stomach before they reach the sides of her ribs. The tunic rises with him, caught on his arms, and she shifts, watching its ascent. 

It bunches under her breasts and he mouths kisses around her navel, tongue flicking at her skin. Darcy feels her toes curl, her eyes fluttering. His mouth is so soft, gentle and seeking, the pressure more like a whisper, a teasing brush. She arches into it, nails digging into his shoulder, and she can feel him smile. Can taste a flare of pride coming off of him. 

He tips his head back, rests his chin on her, and looks up to meet her eyes. There’s a smirk edging at his lips, and he licks them. She huffs out a little breath and reaches down, pulls the tunic up and off, letting it slide down one arm and fall to the floor. His pupils dilate and that low simmering heat starts climbing. She raises one knee, slides it over his leg and onto the bed to press down on the mattress. His palm falls to the top of her thigh and smooths circles around her skin. 

Darcy well remembers the up and down battle of loving her own body. Feeling self conscious about her curves, the size of her breasts, how little she resembled the models in the magazines or the girls on TV. She learned to love herself, to accept herself, and even then, there were still days she doubted it. She doesn’t feel that now. It’s not just that all she can feel from him is love and appreciation and lust. It’s that she found herself, found her confidence and her strength, found the beauty in a body of imperfections. She’s not perfect. She’s far from perfect. But she’s herself. Independent of everyone and everything, she will always have herself to rely on, so she might as well love herself. 

His hand finds the small of her back, steadies her as she takes a seat in his lap, knees book-ending his hips. When she’s comfortable, his hand slides up her back, under the blanket of wet, curling her hair, and finds the nape of her neck. He draws her forward, their mouths parted and just short of each other, and he stares into her eyes. 

His eyebrows raises, just a faint tick.  _You know?_

Her chin dips, not quite a nod.  _I know_. Her eyes flick down and then back to his.  _Do you?_

She can feel him smile before his lips meet hers.  _I do_.

The kiss starts slow, slanting mouths meeting unhurried, tongue flicking over lips and teeth. His hand drags down her shoulder, squeezes gently, and pulls at her, inviting her impossibly closer. Her front presses to him, breasts rubbing against his chest as she rocks herself forward, one hand grazing his ribs as she wraps her arm around his waist, while the other perches on his shoulder, fingers tangled in his hair. 

They fall back against the mattress, the weight of her on top of him makes him hum. He drags a hand down her back and over the curve of her ass, palm sliding along the underside of her thigh before it slides back up. His fingers are tentative; he’s always worried he doesn’t know his own strength. She doesn’t worry. If anything, he touches her like she’s made of glass, liable to shatter under him at any moment. She’s going to relieve him of that fear. 

She stretches herself out against him, feels the rub of leather against her legs and wants it gone. She reaches between them to untie the laces of his pants and then pauses. “This okay?” 

“Mmhmm.” He kisses the corner of her mouth and down her chin. 

She pulls the laces the loose and tugs at the fabric near his hip. He lifts up and she gets her knees under herself to lever her weight off of him while she pushes his pants down. He reaches a hand down to help and while it takes some work, and some laughter, eventually his pants are gone and she can feel him, all of him, pressed to her. The hair on his legs, the muscle in his thighs, the indents of his abdomen, the heat of his skin. And his cock, half hard against her inner thigh. 

She pushes her hair over one shoulder, it’s damp and still dripping in places. The tips graze his shoulder and drag along the upper end of his metal arm. 

“Cold,” he murmurs. 

“Someone interrupted me before I could dry it.” 

His mouth ticks up at the corner. “You complainin’?” 

“You’ll know if I’m complaining.” She ducks down and presses a kiss to his chin, biting lightly.

He chuckles, a low rumble from his chest. His hand is rubbing the inside of her thighs, knuckles drawing figure eights, and she wants to reach down and lead it higher. Maybe he can hear her thoughts, because he lets it climb and cups his hand against her. She presses down against the pressure, feels his middle finger drag up the center of her slit. She knows she’s wet, she can feel it, feel how easy it is for his finger to slide against her. 

“More.  _More_ ,” she says and chokes on a noise as his finger rubs her clit, circling around it until her thighs shake and she lets out a hum. 

She can feel his energy feeding into hers, feel it spreading through her body, sparking and brightening. She can feel a tingling sensation humming under her skin everywhere that he’s touching her. His fingers stroking her, his hand under at the hinge of her jaw, fingers tangled in her hair, his hips against her spread knees. Her chest arches down, drags against his, and the tingle spreads, unfurling across her breasts. At the same time, his finger dips inside her, thrusting slowly, shallowly, and working its way deeper. 

He leans up, catches her lips, and drags his fingers down her neck. She shakes against him, the sensation is hitting her from so many different sides and it’s almost overwhelming. 

“Tell me what you want,” he says, nipping at her lips. 

And she can barely think; it just feels so good. She shakes her head a little and pants, “Can you feel that?” 

He raises an eyebrow, but she finds herself swallowing tightly, focusing on her energy, on how strong it all feels, and trying to send it to him, to send the energy he was giving her back into his body. She can tell the moment it works. His chest lurches up and his mouth falls open. It’s not blue or white or yellow anymore, the threads bond together, creating a pale green that flows equally between them. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he mutters, his head falling back and his brow furrowed. 

“Too much?” she asks. “You want me to pull back?” 

He shakes his head. “No. No, I...” His fingers flex in her hair and then he’s kissing her again, stretching himself up, his arm brushing her shoulder. His finger moves a little deeper and faster, thumb swiping across her clit. She shudders, and be breaks away from her lips, forehead still pressed to hers. “ _Christ_.” 

She laughs a little. “For the record, that usually feels good,  _really_ good, but not  _this_ good.” 

“Yeah?” He’s a little dazed, but he does it again, and she balls her fingers up in the bed sheet. She can feel every muscle in his body spasm, his whole frame tightening up and then releasing at the flood of sensation. He draws his hand back for a moment, damp fingers press against her thigh. 

She licks her lips and ducks her mouth down to kiss across his cheek, feels a tingling across her own cheek and smiles. She slides her mouth down his neck and across his shoulder, where the scar tissue has mostly mended. She can still feel some of it, the slightly raised skin under her lips, but on the surface, at first glance, most wouldn’t notice it. 

The room is lit with low burning candles; sending shadows across the walls and dancing along the hollows of their bodies. She kisses down his chest, nuzzles her face against him, and then looks up. He brushes her hair back from her face, thumb rubbing lightly at her temple. She stretches a hand up to brush her fingers over his cheek. “Okay?” 

He nods, staring at her, something soft in his eyes. “You?” 

“Great.”

His mouth quirks at the corner.

She leans into the light touch of his fingers on her face. “We can just do this. We can slow down. Whatever you’re ready for.”

He’s quiet a moment, thoughtful. And then he looks up at her, a certainty in his gaze that hasn’t been there before. “I want more. Want all of it... All of  _you_.” 

She shakes a little, feels that warmth well up in her stomach, and a zing of energy runs the course of her body. “If you wanna stop at any point.” She taps her fingers against his chest. “We can always stop.” 

He nods as he’s leaning up, nose brushing hers. “Okay.” And then they’re kissing, rolling to the side, her leg hitched over his hip. They lay like that, stomach to stomach, while his hand reaches down, kneads along her thigh and works his way up until his fingers are stroking across her pussy. And she can see him feeling the same things she is, shaky and breathless as he works her higher, circling her clit and sliding one long finger into her.

Their foreheads meet and she clings to his shoulder, nails biting crescent moons into his skin. She arches up into him, nipples rubbing against his chest, and her breath catches as a wave of pleasure washes over her. He curves his finger inside her, moves it a little quicker, and she digs her heel into his back and lets out a cracked cry. A flood of feeling rushes through her, energy stretched tight and then shattering in little bursts all over her. His finger stutters inside her and she can see the pleasure in his face. In the flutter of his eyelashes as he closes his eyes and the purse of his mouth, the flex of muscle along his arm, and the clench of his abdomen. 

He’s still hard against her stomach and while she’s tempted to reach a hand down, she knows he’s trying hard to hold on to his control. She strokes a hand up and down his side, rubs her fingers over his ribs, and waits. Her legs feel weak and her body feels nice and loose, but the heat is still there, stirring in her belly. 

When he opens his eyes, he’s a little thunderstruck, and she smiles at the expression. He kisses her, a little sloppy and a lot affectionate. His hand rubs the underside of her thigh, squeezing gently, and with a little maneuvering, she’s on her back with him settled comfortably in the cradle of her hips. He’s warm, his frame large enough to swamp her. 

It’s a strange realization, that she’s always seen them as equals when the size and power dynamic is so different. In the beginning, before she knew how to control her abilities, he was fully trained. But even then, she’d never seen him as a threat. He’d saved her, helped her, taken care of her in her worst moments, and when she looked at him, she saw a partner. In all things. She still did.

They were broken when they met, fractured pieces of people they could never be again. They held each other together in the hollowed out skeletons of abandoned buildings and barns. They put themselves together in the safe haven of a new world. And now, here they were, knit together in ways that couldn’t be undone. Woven into each other’s skin and cracks, filling in the dips and valleys of pain and triumph. Connected, in every way that people can be. Even more than most. 

His hair falls across his face, but she strokes it back, fingers walking the curve of his cheek. Love is strange. Big and small, simple and complicated, new and old. 

When she was thirteen, her mother told her never to let a man have more of her than she could live without. “If a boy wants an organ so much, skip the heart. They can have a kidney. You’ve got two, so there’s one to spare.” Darcy hadn’t taken her seriously, who would, and she’d fallen in love a time or three, all of which ended in tears and heartbreak for both parties. But in truth, the closest she’d gotten to losing her heart was in a HYDRA lab, surrounded by curious scientists. She has no doubts that had she died on their table, she would’ve been harvested and examined so they didn’t make the same mistakes with Subject Thirteen. 

But she survived, heart in tact, and she thinks that maybe it’s not a matter of giving her heart, or any organ, to a person. In love or not. Maybe it’s a matter of sharing it. Cracking it open to reveal all the little valves, working and not working. He’s seen the best and the worst of her, carried her when her body couldn’t hold her up, held her through every nightmare and memory and flashback. Loved her when she wasn’t sure she could love herself. He taught her to fight, gave her the tools to survive, and stuck by her when it would’ve been so much easier not to. She’s pretty sure her heart spilled open, like a broken latch she couldn’t control, from the moment he reached out to let her down from that wall. The latch is fixed now, stronger than ever, and her hands don’t shake when she opens it of her own free will. 

She has no idea, none at all, what the future holds. If they’ll live days or weeks or month or years. If they’ll ever get their week-long date and live happily ever after. But she does know that for as long as she has breath in her body, he will be one of the best parts of her. An extra limb or organ or a second heart jammed in tight next to the other. His own autonomous being, stitched into the fabric of her life. 

“You went away for a minute.” 

She blinks up at him. “Just thinking.”

“’Bout what?” His knuckles drag along her ribs and her knees climb higher on his hips. 

“How far we’ve come.” She slides her fingers down along the line of his jaw to hinge off the end off his chin. “How far we’ve got left to go.” 

“That good or bad?” 

“Good.” She slides her fingers down his neck and across his chest, tucks them atop his ribs. “We’re through the worst of it.” 

“Yeah?” He ducks his forehead down to rest against hers. “Nothin’ but a cake walk from here, huh?” 

She laughs, sinks a hand down between them and wraps her fingers around the length of him, stroking and squeezing slowly. “Not exactly. But I think we’re ready for it. How about you?” 

He thrusts into her hand a little. “Mmhmm. Ready.” 

Her lips curve slowly. “Me too.” 

He kisses her, dislodges her hand and replaces it with him own, dragging the head of his cock against her slowly, bumping against her clit, and grinning as she whines. He drops his head to kiss down her chest, wraps a nipple between soft pink lips, teeth tugging. And then he’s sliding inside of her, taking his time, until she’s pushing herself up to meet him, her legs gripping his waist. 

His stubble scrapes at her breasts, but it’s a nice burn, just like his teeth scraping and nipping. His hand curls around her shoulder, holds on tight, as he fills her completely. She can feel him breathing a little unsteadily, like his lungs are her own. Her hand strokes down his back and gives him a moment to get used to it. 

When his grip on her shoulder loosens, his fingers are shaking, and she rubs his side soothingly. He starts out slow, draws himself out while he kisses across her chest, sucking marks into her skin. He’s a quick learner, looks for cues in what she likes and what isn’t working for her. Asks her what she wants, what she doesn’t. So when she tells him to speed up, to stop holding back, he listens. His hands tear the sheets and her body is going to be wrung out in the morning, but she meets every thrust of his hips, arches into the wet drag of his mouth, and chases the pleasure that ricochets between them. 

She’s getting loud enough she’s sure the neighbors are going to complain later, but she can’t find it in her to stop. The added sensation of their combined energy, his pleasure on top of hers, is making it hard to focus on anything else but him and how good it all feels. He grinds into her, fingers rolling her clit, and she shatters on a shout, her head throw back and her body arched up. And he rides the wave with her, his orgasm hitting just a moment later. It courses through her body, sends her over the edge into another, smaller climax, and she clings to him, like a ship seeking port in a storm of unsteady seas. 

She can hear her heart pounding in her ears. For a moment it’s all she hears, drowning out all else. When it fades, there’s just their breathing, quick and heavy. Her legs are still lazily wrapped around his waist, and she’s going to have to untie them. In a minute though, because she’s not sure she can control any muscle in her body currently. There are tiny little bursts of pleasure still going off, her nerves a little shot. 

“Too heavy?” he wonders, his damp cheek pressed to her shoulder. Their skin is slick with sweat and his body is almost always like a furnace, so it’s probably not helping. But she doesn’t want him to move, not just yet. In a minute though, probably. 

“Mm-mm,” she hums and lifts her tired arms up to wrap around his back. “You feel okay?” 

“Think ‘okay’s’ an understatement.” 

She laughs, her shoulders shaking, and he tips his head back to look at her, that same look on his face when he said she was beautiful. “Think I might need another bath,” she murmurs. “You should join me.” 

He nods, turns his head down and presses a kiss to her skin. 

They stay coiled together for a couple minutes, until strength slowly leeches back. And then he slides out of her, crawls off the bed and reaches back with silver fingers. She takes his hand, lets him pull her over, and then wraps an arm around his waist and presses a kiss to his shoulder blade. They walk like that to the bathroom, where they separate so he can run the bath, adding the scented oils she likes, and she can dig out towels for them. 

The water is almost too hot when they climb in, but it feels good. He pulls her down in front of him, her back to his front, and they just relax for a while, her head tipped onto his shoulder. He grabs up a wash cloth and soaks it in the water before he starts wiping down her arms and her front, all the while peppering kisses down her neck and shoulder. His other hand holds hers, fingers folded together, resting atop the edge of the large tub. 

They’ll stay there, until the water starts to cool. And then they’ll get out, dry themselves off, and crawl into bed. Wrap themselves around each other and revel in how good it feels, to be safe and happy and loved. Darcy knows there’s no guarantee on finding a forever love. Things happen, people change, life goes on. But she thinks this, right here, with him, is as close as a person can get to it. And she’ll enjoy every second they have. 


	39. reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have been practicing.”

“You have been practicing.”

Darcy feels  _amazing_. She’s not saying it was the sex, but it might’ve been the sex. Which he woke her up to the next morning too, and every morning since. She’s not complaining. Whether it’s the energy exchange that comes with it or just the fact that they’ve progressed this far, all she knows for sure is that she feels like she could fly if she really wanted to. 

She doesn’t say that to Sif though. Training with Sif is a no-boy zone, meaning they aren’t there physically or in conversation. It’s all female, all the time, and it’s a good way to focus. Regardless, she actually  _has_ been training. On days that she and Eir finish early or when Sif can’t come out, she goes through the motions on her own. She won’t always be in Asgard, so she has to know how to ready herself without her mentors. 

“Maybe I’m just feeling more energetic today.” She shrugs and looks up to Sif. “So what’re we working on today?” 

Sif’s grin is bright and fierce as she produces two swords. “You wanted to learn, did you not?” 

Hell yes she does. She’s pretty sure it won’t be very practical for the kind of fighting she’s going to be doing going forward, but she’s not going to scoff at a new skill. She’s sure it’s going to encompass more than just swinging a large sword around willy-nilly, so she’ll still be learning something that will help in a combat situation. 

Sif hands her the sword, readjusts how she holds it, and then maneuvers her body into a good stance. 

“The objective with any fight is to render your opponent incapacitated, yes?” Sif asks.

Darcy nods. 

“What’s important is remembering that as much as you want to incapacitate them, they are aiming to do the same to you. Which means that any offense is only as good as its defense. Before you can harm your opponent, you must first learn to protect yourself. So that is where we will start today.” Sif nods at her. “Ready?” 

Darcy shrugs. “Ready as I can be.”

“Good.” Sif moves in beside her and mimics her pose. “I will show you what to do and you follow.”

“Deal.” 

Darcy regrets thinking learning to sword fight would be fun two hours later, when her arms are tired and she hasn’t gotten to stab anything. She knows Sif is right and that it’ll take a few more lessons in how to block and avoid an opponent before they should go up against her each other. But part of her just saw a very sharp object in her hands and wanted to see how good she’d be at the stabby stabby part of things. She’s a good student who doesn’t outright say that though.

Swords are heavy and it’s a lot more than just pointing the sharp end at things. She has to learn how to put her whole body behind a swing, to move with the momentum of it so it doesn’t topple her. To recognize that the sharp end can also harm her if not used correctly. 

She’s tired, she has a cut on her forearm that has, thankfully, stopped bleeding, and her fingers are cramped. But she’s successfully learned lesson one of sword fighting. So she smile despite the pain, and blood, and takes a seat next to Sif on the ground, swords put away for a while. 

They sip at the water they’ve each brought in canisters, and Darcy splits a sandwich and some fresh blueberries that he’d picked up for her before she left for training. Sif’s favorite snack is a bar of dark chocolate that she says she treats herself to after every victory. She snaps of a piece to give to Darcy, who lets it melt on her tongue. 

“Do you have favorite battles?” Darcy wonders. “Like, do some stand out more than others or do they all just kind of meld together?” 

“In the beginning, when I was first trying to show my mettle, I would take on any battle that came along. I would pick fights for the sake of fighting. It was... foolish at the time. But I was young and trying very hard to prove myself. Those, I don’t remember as clearly, as I had no stake in how they ended except my own pride. Later, however, when I learned that it was better to fight with purpose, those are the battles I remember. When the misery of a lost battle did not just end in disappointment for myself but for others. When fighting became more about protecting people rather than earning a title for myself. We, as warriors, may forget that sometimes. That our purpose is not simply to shed blood but to do so for the betterment of others. When I fight now, I do it knowing that I seek  more than glory. And I hope in time, when the people of Asgard reflect on my history, they will see my growth and know that I cared just as fiercely as I fought.”

“Do you ever regret any of it? Any of the battles or the people that had to die?” 

“Of course. Not all who go to battle should  _be_ in battle. There are young and old, sick and frail. We each have our reasons for fighting, each defend ourselves as best we can. There are some that I wish had not fallen under my sword. Some who had barely lived the lives they should have. But guilt can be an enemy to you if you let it. Honor them and their choices by not letting them weigh on your shoulders.” 

“I don’t think I’ll feel guilty when we attack HYDRA,” she admits. “I don’t think I’ll feel sorry for any of them. I’m just... I want to be sure I’m doing it for the right reasons.”

“What would a wrong reason be?” 

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head and picks at her blueberries. “I just... When this all started, I wanted revenge. I wanted them to hurt like I hurt. I still do. But sometimes I wonder if it can be more than that too.” 

“Sometimes a warrior fights to purge their soul, and sometimes fighting is the reason their soul needs purging. Whatever reason you choose to undertaken in your battles, be sure it is one you can sleep with at night.” 

“Do you think it can be two reasons. Like, they deserve it but it’s also just the right thing to do?” 

“As I see it, those are sound reasons.” She nods, but then turns to Darcy and says, “Remember though, that so long as you tie your freedom to their destruction, then they still have some measure of control over your life and how it proceeds.”

Darcy hums. “Good point.” 

Sif smiles. “I am honored you seek my advice.”

“Thanks for sharing it with me.” Darcy reaches over to bump her water canister against Sif’s. “Cheers.” 

The subject turns to lighter topics then, to what duties Sif’s undertaken of late and how Darcy’s lessons with Eir have progressed. But a part of her mind is still stuck on what Sif had said. While Darcy was free of HYDRA’s chains, a part of her was still undeniably attached to them. She wasn’t on their table anymore, sure, but her life was still hinging on the idea of defeating them and making them pay, which was no small task. It could take years, maybe even her life, to finish them off. So what did that mean in the overall? What kind of ‘after’ was there to look forward to? What kind of life was that to lead?


	40. half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anyone ever tell you you’re kinda grim?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kinda grim?”

Hogun gives a short, faint nod. “Perhaps. A time or two.”

They’re in the same sparring area he and Heimdall often meet at, slightly out of view of the townspeople unless they purposely venture closer. He thought they were going to spar, but Hogun had immediately taken a seat on a stone wall and declared no fighting would be happening.

“So what part are you against, exactly?” He crosses his arms over his chest loosely. “Training a Midgardian or fighting one?” 

“ _Both_.” Hogun slices a piece off his apple with a dagger from his hip. “You are too soft, too  _human_  to fight an Asgardian.”

“You’re not Asgardian. You’re Vanir. Heimdall told me.” 

“It is close enough in biology. I would still have an advantage. I do not fight with those who are weaker than me.” 

He grimaces at that, but shakes it off. “Then help make me stronger.” 

Hogun hums. “Some things are not so simple.” 

“Heimdall’s told you about the serum? About...” He flexes his hand uncomfortably, “my arm.” 

“He has. You are advanced for a Midgardian,” he admits. “But still too breakable.” 

“I’m not  _breakable_ ,” he argues, lip curled in a sneer. 

Hogun looks up, lets his gaze wonder him from head to toe. “You are small.” 

Sure, he’s not Thor or Heimdall sized, but he’s not what most would call ‘ _small_.’ Besides... “You’re the same size as me,” he points out, rolling his eyes. 

“Yes, and I am small.” 

He blows an irritated breath out through his nose. “I’m strong and fast and I’ve been training with Heimdall. He’s worried he’s spending too much time away from his post though, so he wants me to train elsewhere. If Thor were here, I’d ask him. Since he’s not...”

“So I am your third choice.” Hogun shakes his head. “That does not encourage me.” 

“Don’t see why, since you don’t want to help me at all,” he mutters. He swears he can feel a headache coming on. 

“I will help you, but not with your fighting. Not yet.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means you are impatient. And you have vengeance in your blood.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Wasn’t aware you could see my blood.” 

“I know vengeance when I see it. And I know how it affects a warrior.” Hogun slices another piece of apple off and offers it to him, which he takes but doesn’t eat. “First you must purge your soul of all your hate so it does not hinder you in battle.” 

“Yeah? How’s that gonna work? The only reason I wanna go to battle is because of what they did.” 

“There is a difference between striking down a foe because it is necessary and killing so that you may regain your honor. There is no honor to be found. If you truly believe that you will be cleansed of your pain when they are destroyed, you are fooling yourself. When the world is rid of your foe, you have no one left to blame, and only yourself to hate.” 

“I can’t let them get away with it.” His teeth grind. “Not what they did to me or Darcy or anyone.” 

“Perhaps. But fighting with hate in your heart will end in tragedy. You must be clear-headed. Focused. And you are not that.” 

He snorts self-deprecatingly. “Half my head’s not all there, so I don’t know what you’re expecting here.”

Hogun meets his gaze and tells him quite simply, “To find the other half.” 

He blinks, confused. “How?” 

“First, you must connect with yourself. That is where we will start.” 

“Start?” 

“Yes. I said I would not train you in fighting because you are weak. Let us make you strong.” He stands then, tosses the rest of the apple and walks past him. “Come. There is much to learn.” 

He’s not sure about that. He’s not sure about Hogun at all. But he follows. 


	41. priorities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know. I kinda like it.”

“I don’t know. I kinda like it.” 

As it turns out, Hogun’s idea of training him is to teach him meditation. Or that’s part of it. Darcy’s pretty sure they’re doing the Asgardian, or Vanirian, version of yoga too. On the bright side, it gives them something they can do together. On the less bright side, he’s a fan of it while she still has trouble staying awake.

They’ve wandered out to the field they often spend their afternoons picnicking in as the Inn doesn’t have enough space for them to comfortably sit on the floor. Plus, Darcy finds that being outside keeps her a little more awake and focused. There’s a cool breeze and the sound of animals grazing in the distance. The smell of grass and hay and salt water is strong but oddly relaxing.

“Of course you like it, you were a sniper, you’re used to staying still and biding your time.  _I_ , on the other hand, would rather nap.” 

“You’d rather nap than do a lot of things,” he points out. 

“True. Which I vote we do after this. And then we can pick up some dinner.” 

He hums. “I told Heimdall I’d drop something off for him to eat. You mind?” 

“No. I haven’t seen him in a while. I’m up for a visit.” 

She cracks an eye open to see him sitting completely still, legs crossed and hands on his knees. Eir would probably weep to see how invested he gets into meditation, might even throw a “why can’t you be more like him?” in her direction to drive it home. So she vows never to let Eir see him meditating. For self-preservation reasons, of course. 

Her thoughts wander to her other mentor then, and to something that’s been on her mind for a while. Sif’s opinion means a lot to her and she feels like her words of wisdom the week before held a lot more than just a grain of truth. Maybe a whole beach’s worth. 

“ _Hey_.”

His lips twitch. “You’re s’pose to be focusing.”

“I will in a minute. I wanna talk to you about something.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?” 

Darcy lets out a sigh and rolls up onto her knees, crawling across the space between them and laying herself down so her head is in his lap. “Sif said something last week that’s just kind of been rattling around in my head...” 

Opening his eyes, he tips his chin down to see her. He strokes her hair back from her face and nods. “All right. What’d she say?” 

“In not so many fancy Asgardian words... That fighting HYDRA for only revenge-y reasons is probably going to bite me in the ass.” She shrugs. “Which, I get. Kinda reminds me of my mom, actually.” 

He stares at her then, head quirked curiously. 

“When I was younger, I used to get bullied a lot. Stupid stuff, y’know? Like there’s  _ever_ a good reason to bully someone. But it used to get me so upset that all I wanted to do was beat the crap out of someone. And mom used to tell me that all it would get me was a mark on my permanent record and a reputation for fighting. She said the best revenge would be kicking ass at life and not letting them get me down. So-so advice when you’ve got years left to put up with the same assholes. So I totally socked Jared Matthews in the mouth and he stopped saying stuff to my face. Didn’t really fix the problem though, because he was just one of a few people, and I definitely got suspended. But it felt good at the time. Just in that moment to unleash all that shitty stuff right in his face. Long term though, I still had to go to that school every day and see the same faces and know they were still saying stuff. And I wasn’t any happier about it, not really. I mean, I can’t say not doing anything would’ve made me any happier either. But I know hitting him only felt good at the time. The fallout sucked, and mom basically gave me the silent treatment all week.” 

She shakes her head. “My point is, I still want to take apart HYDRA. That’s not going to change. But I don’t want our lives to hinge on it, you know? I used to think... I don’t care if I die in the process, as long as I take them with me. As long as they feel what I felt. But I don’t... I don’t  _want_ that. I want to outlive them. I want to take them apart so there’s no Subject Thirteen or Fourteen or however many more they want to put through what I went through. I want to take them apart for the eleven people before me. For what they did to you. For what they will  _keep_ doing. Does that make sense?” 

He nods, his thumb skimming along her eyebrow. “Hogun said something similar. That fighting with vengeance in your blood makes you a less effective warrior. He thinks if I can reconnect with who I was, get a better handle on both sides of my head, that I’ll be stronger.” 

“What do you think?” 

“Fighting is easy for me. I can fight with or without my memory, HYDRA proved that. But... figuring out who I am, all the parts of me they took, I need that. Whether it helps me fight or not.” He rubs his hands down her shoulders and squeezes. “Maybe your mom had the right idea... Having a life, being happy, sounds like a pretty big ‘fuck you’ to HYDRA.”

Smiling, she laughs under her breath. “So we don’t totally stop, we just make sure we prioritize ourselves over them. Right?” 

“Right.” 

“Good. Solid plan.” She lifts up then and pops a kiss to his mouth. “Get back to meditating now. You’re distracting me.” 

He snorts, kisses her one last time, and watches her as she crawls back over to get into position. His expression is fond and his energy is vibrating with affection.

“Close your eyes,” she tells him. “I can’t concentrate when you’re looking at me.” 

He grins, but listens, eyes falling closed. 

And she stares at him a moment, her heart feeling light, before she closes her eyes. She feels good, really good. Like they’re moving in the right direction. 


	42. protect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s all this?”

“What’s all this?” 

Eir looks up from the trunk she’s going through. In front of her, the bed is covered in colorful fabrics. She smiles warmly at Darcy, who immediately narrows her eyes in suspicion. With an amused laugh, Eir shakes her head. “You always expect the worst.” 

“Force of habit.” Darcy saunters into Eir’s bedroom and takes a look around. She’s not going to pretend she isn’t a snoop, she already lingered as she walked through the large house, peeking around corners and admiring the furniture. Healers must make a pretty penny, because Eir was living the high life. If they ever had a Cribs: Asgard Edition, she’d be on it.  “Nice place. A lot roomier than the Inn.” 

“Yes. My first wife and I built it together. A home for our daughters to grow up in.” 

“First wife?” Darcy takes a seat in a roomy chair and lays her legs over the arm. “How many have you had?” 

“Two wives, one husband. You can guess which I regret.” 

Darcy snorts. “So what happened to them?” 

“Life, I’m afraid.” Eir takes a seat at the edge of her bed. “Asgardians live a great deal longer than Midgardians. Millenniums, in fact. But we do age and die, sometimes from natural causes and other times from sickness or war.” Her eyes grow distant for a moment. “My husband, Calder, he was a good man at his heart, but obsessed with war. Always planning for his next battle, eager to join the halls of Valhalla and hear the people sing songs of his glory... We differed there. Where he wanted to destroy his enemies, I wanted to preserve life.”

“Opposites attract,” Darcy murmurs. 

“Yes, I suppose. I did love him. Oh, he was a pigheaded man, could never admit he was wrong. But... I loved him despite that. Suppose I enjoyed proving him wrong more often than not.” Her smile is faint. “He was lost rather early into our marriage. We had no children to speak of, just a long list of battles won. He died in my infirmary, sick with blood loss and pain. There was nothing I could do, no way I could help him. So I... I held his hand and I told him they would be proud to accept him into Valhalla, even as I knew that he was leaving me behind. I regretted that later. Regretted that I hadn’t told him that his choices affected me too, that he should have thought of me, put us before his glory seeking... He forgot my name in his last moments, but not how to ask me if they had won. He was more married to his sword than he ever was to me.” 

“His loss,” Darcy says, her lips pursed. “ _Seriously_.” 

“Yes, well... I thought so too. So when I fell in love next, I was a mite more picky.” 

“Your first wife?” 

“Her name was Jorunn. She was a horse breeder, kept some of the most beautiful horses in all of Asgard.”

“That explains the stables,” Darcy muses, tipping her head to see them through the window, leading into a large, green pasture.

“Aye.” Eir nods. “I didn’t have the heart to take them down. We don’t keep horses anymore. Sometimes though... Sometimes I can still hear her in the field, walking them through the motions, talking to them. In many ways, she loved her horses like Calder loved his sword. But Jorunn wanted a family, was willing to put her family before everything else. We adopted two girls from the village, Sylvi and Tyra, when they were little more than babes. We raised them here in this home, gave them all they could ever want or ask for. Taught them to be good, strong, intelligent women. They were grown when Jorunn died. Something spooked the horses one morning and when Jorunn attempted to calm them, they were too rattled, trampled her in the field. It was... It was far too late by the time I’d reached her.” 

Darcy swallows thickly, her heart lurching as Eir swipes a tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” she says rather primly. “As I said. Life happens. Jorunn and I had a wonderful life together. We raised a beautiful family. And she died doing what she loved; she wouldn’t blame the horses for their actions. She hadn’t a terrible bone in her body. She would seek their forgiveness for them.” 

“You gave the horses away?” 

"I made sure they went to a good home, but... Just the sound of them broke my heart in the early days.” 

“Must’ve been hard.”

“Sylvi and Tyra were there, they helped me through.” She wrings her hands and turns her attention back to the trunk, drawing a lovely, lilac dress out from it. “This was Jorunn’s. She wore it on our wedding day. She didn’t have much fondness for dresses, she much preferred her riding pants, but for this, she made an exception. You remind me of her; she was kind and joyful and always searching for a reason to laugh.” Eir pets the fabric of the dress a moment and then says, quite softly, “It would please me if you would have it.” 

Darcy’s brows raised in surprise. “I-- I couldn’t. I mean, it’s your wife’s. And, shouldn’t your daughters...?” 

“They’ve each collected things that remind them of her. They wanted me to keep this. And I have. I’ll always love Jorunn, I don’t need a dress to prove it. Besides, I think she would want you to have it.” 

Climbing from her chair, Darcy walks over to stand beside her. “I don’t even know where I’d wear it.” 

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Eir said, “Oh, I’m certain you’ll find the right event for it.” With a quick squeeze, she releases her. “In the meantime, I have something else for you that I think you will have no trouble adding to your wardrobe.”

“More clothes? Man, I’m getting spoiled.” 

Eir chuckles lightly and circles around to her closet. She steps inside a moment and then returns with a few folded items and a box. “I had these custom made. They arrived yesterday, but you were busy training with Sif and I had work at the infirmary.” She unfolds the top item to show a leather tunic with long sleeves and a flares at the waist. “It’s stronger than most Midgardian material, so it’ll keep you safer. The fabric is a little thicker and it will hug your frame for easy moving. The pants are made of the same; they’ll keep you warm and guard you as best they can. Calder was very specific in what he wore to battle. He didn’t care for capes or the like. He wanted strong, sturdy clothes that would protect him and give him room to move.” She removes the lid from the box then and pulls out a pair of boots to add to the rest. “It isn’t much, but it will put my mind at ease to know that you are as protected as I can make you.” 

Darcy stares down at the clothes, her heart banging in her chest, and shakes her head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ve heard ‘thank you’ is a common custom among all the realms.”

She laughs, a scoff of a noise, and reaches for Eir, drawing her into a hug. “You didn’t have to.” 

“Of course not. I  _wanted_ to.” She rubs her hands over Darcy’s back as she rocks her side to side. “I had no idea what you might bring to my life when you arrived, but I thank Yggdrasil that you were.” 

Darcy blinks quickly against the sting of tears and holds her a little tighter. “You taught me a lot. More than I ever expected.” 

“Good.” She strokes her hair gently. “Hold tight to it, let it guide you on days you’re weary.” 

“I will.” 

They hold on a while longer, and Darcy isn’t keen to let go. The affection and love that fills Eir’s energy is what she imagines her own mother’s would be like. It’s warm and fuzzy and feels like a balm to her soul. One she needed whether she’d known it or not. She imagines that’s exactly what Eir is. Someone she didn’t know she needed in her life until she had her, and now she can’t imagine it without her.


	43. twenty-seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is your number?”

“What is your number?” 

He pauses, cracks an eye open from where he’s sitting on the ground, meditating, and looks up at Hogun. “My number?” 

“How many have died at your hand?” he simplifies. “All warrior’s have a number. Some will call it out in the heat of battle, joyfully adding to it with each slain enemy. Others will keep theirs close, some because they find their number too small, others because they take no joy in it.” 

He frowns, stares at the ground a while. “Is there a right answer?” 

“That depends on you. Do you take joy or find shame in your number?” 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Before, in the war, it felt different. Not good, never felt good, but... I guess I felt like it was for the right purpose. That I was doing it because it would lead to something good. After... The things I did for HYDRA, I didn’t choose that and... Not so sure I’d agree with a lot of it.” 

Humming, Hogun took a seat across from him. “What would you like your number to be?” 

“Honestly.” He smiles bitterly. “Zero sounds about right.” 

“And yet you court more death by readying yourself for battle.” Hogun stares at him curiously. “To what end?” 

“ _Theirs_.” He shakes his head. “HYDRA uses people up. It breaks ‘em down and spits ‘em out. Turns us into machines, killers for them to point at a target. Or like Darcy, something to experiment on, always looking to make something bigger, deadlier,  _worse_. There’s no humanity there. Just power. Power hungry people destroying everything in their path.” 

“Destroying you.”

His lip curls. “They  _tried_ to.” 

Hogun raises a brow slowly. “So you are not destroyed?”

He pauses. “No. Not completely.” 

“You survived, got away, got  _free_... And now you chase them, spend your life, spend Darcy’s life, chasing revenge.” 

“No.”

“Then what?” 

He swallows tightly and then shakes his head. “Twenty-seven.” 

Hogun waits. 

“Twenty-seven missions for HYDRA. Twenty-seven faces I can’t get outta my head. Twenty-seven times they pulled me outta the freezer, thawed me out, handed me a gun and a folder and told me to handle it... And I  _did_. It’s all I knew how to do. If I remembered, if I fought, they wiped me, shoved me back in, waited a while and tried again. Sometimes... Sometimes they’d bring me out to train others. But if they saw any sign I was thinking on my own, any chance I was becoming myself, I was stuck in the chair again. That was my life for seventy years. So don’t tell me they don’t deserve every second I spend pulling them apart.” 

“And what do  _you_ deserve?” Hogun wonders, staring at him squarely. “Another seventy years chasing at their heels?” 

He huffs, shakes his head. “You don’t get it.” 

“I understand perfectly. HYDRA used you, took away your life, your choices. But you have it back now. You can do anything. And instead you choose to dedicate yourself to  _them_. Their glory or their destruction, you are still under their power.” 

“So what do I do? Huh? Just let it go?” He shakes his head, grinding his teeth. “I can’t do that.” 

“Before the war, before HYDRA, what did you want for your life?” 

He takes a deep breath, lets it out on a huff. “I don’t know. I...” His brow furrows. “Economy was down the drain, could barely scrape enough change together to eat some days... Wanted an apartment that wasn’t freezing cold every night. A job that wasn’t going to break my back before I was thirty. A dame, someone... good and smart and loyal. Got what it was like livin’ that life. Enough money in my pocket, I could take my girl to a movie or go to Coney Island on the fly, make sure Stevie had his medicine... And Steve. Just... always there. Maybe that he’d find someone of his own, stop pickin’ fights with any damn person that rubbed him wrong.” 

“And what do you have  _now_?” 

His brow furrows tightly. “I... I’ve got Darcy. Got Heimdall and Eir and... S’pose I got Steve too, back home...”

“There are ways to have a life, a good life, and still right the wrongs of the world. To go to battle because it is necessary, and return home when it is time. There are warriors who will spend their whole lives chasing something. Glory, honor, revenge. Their names will be sung for all to hear, remembered in stories of triumph, but their image will grow faint, forgotten or created from myth. Truth is lost to time, to strangers telling stories for entertainment. 

“If you ask me, a truly gifted warrior does not need to hear his name sung to know that he has accomplished something. He needs only to see the people he saved. To know that those he loved were spared because of his actions. And when the fighting ends and the blood is washed from your hands, you can find your glory in the people you love and who love you in return.” 

“That easy, huh?”

“That difficult. Much of your life has been spent as a tool, a warrior against your will, now you must learn how to be a man.” He pushes himself up then and holds a hand out for him to take. “A man may fight when he chooses or choose not to fight.” 

He takes his hand, lets Hogun draw him from the ground. 

“When the choice comes, let us be sure he is capable.” 

He eyes him curiously. “That mean we’re going to spar now?” 

“You still have much to learn, more of yourself to find. I am just a stepping stone. I give you the tools to do your own building.” 

He smirks. “So that’s a yes then?” 

Hogun nods as he steps back and falls into a fighting stance. “Yes.” 

He blocks the first attack, more instinct than anything, but he can tell that Hogun isn’t holding back, and he appreciates it. He’s going to be sore, and he might even regret wanting to fight when it’s all over, but in that moment, it feels good. He’s not whole, not completely, and he’s still figuring out what he wants to do HYDRA-wise, but he’s learning. And, in the end, it’s his choice and no one else’s. Which feels really damn good.


	44. holes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Ow_."

“ _Ow_.” 

Darcy pauses, wash cloth balled up in her hand. She’s behind him in the tub, her legs loosely circling his waist. His fingers drag lightly around her ankles as he leans forward, elbows on his thighs, while she washes his back. The oils she likes to add to the water have a faint jasmine scent; they make their skin silky soft. 

“Baby,” she teases, dropping a kiss to one of his bruised shoulder blades. 

“Sympathy’s overwhelming,” he mutters, but his mouth ticks up as he looks back at her over his shoulder. 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll survive.” She dips the cloth back down into the hot water and then drags it up his side. “Hogun really did a number on you, huh?” 

“Says since my memories are comin’ back, my head must be harder than usual. Pretty sure it’s just an excuse to knock me around.” 

“In fairness, you  _do_ have a pretty hard head.” 

He chuffs out a laugh and leans into it when she kisses the nape of his neck. Her fingers skim through his hair, hot water dribbling down his neck. 

“They’re fading. Can feel it,” he tells her. “Still sore, but they’ll be gone in a couple hours.” 

“Good.” She rubs a hand up his arm and then tugs, inviting him back. He leans into her, rests his back to her chest, head cradled on her shoulder. She dips the cloth down into the water and then spreads it over his chest, water sluicing over him. 

Her hair is tied up in a messy pile atop her head, a few pieces falling loose, the damp ends clinging to her skin. Her face is flushed from the heat of the water; she’s utterly beautiful. He reaches a hand up and presses his fingers to her cheek. She covers it with her own, draws his fingertips to her lips and kisses them, wrinkling her nose. “You’re pruning up.” 

“Yeah? So are you.” He reaches down, plucks at one of her toes, and she laughs, light and soft. His fingers drag up her leg and tease around her knee. “Never did this before.” 

“Did what?” she asks, soaking the cloth again and ringing it out over his chest. 

“Before the war, the water was always cold and the tub was too small. Could hardly fit myself in there, let alone another person.” 

“Yeah? Thank Yggdrasil for hot water.” She carefully rubs around the healed scar tissue of his shoulder meeting his new arm. “I always wanted a big bathtub. We only had a shower in my apartment growing up. Worked fine, got the job done anyway, but there was always something nice about bathtubs.” 

“Noticed. You spend hours in here.” 

She laughs, scrubs the cloth over his neck and under his chin, her thumb grazing her favorite scar. “Are you kidding? This place is like a fantasy bathroom. All the candles and the oils and this tub... I’d live in here if I could.” 

He grins, stares up at her a while. Slowly, while she rubs down his other arm, he finds his smile beginning to fade. “Won’t always be like this... When we go back...” 

“Yeah.” She doesn’t look put out by the idea. “You think we’ll have to get desk jobs where they pay us minimum wage and undervalue what we bring to the company?” 

He snorts. “Can’t see myself at a desk.” 

“Yeah... Me either. Not anymore.” 

“What d’you  _wanna_  do? If you could pick...” 

She takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and the cloth sinks back into the water while she absently rubs her hand up and down his side. There’s mottled bruising there from a few too many hits from Hogun, but it feels good, the steady pressure of her palm kneading at him. “I don’t know. I don’t fit in the lab with Jane anymore, or in a classroom at Culver... Guess I‘ll just have to find where I do fit.” She shrugs a little, then looks down at him. “What about you?” 

“Feels like I’ve always been on the front lines... Hard to imagine being anywhere else,” he admits. 

“You went to art school once upon a time. You ever think about revisiting?” 

“Wasn’t what you’d call the next Rembrandt,” he murmurs, but shakes his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. Wouldn’t be the worst.” 

“So we’ll figure something out. Make our own paths. New, old, somewhere in the middle.” She nods. “Sounds about right.” 

“Yeah.” He leans up, presses a kiss to her lips. “You wanna be my nude model when I get into drawing people?” 

Darcy laughs, loud and from the gut, her head falling back. “Only if you’re naked too.” 

“Deal.” 

She tips her chin down, presses a succession of kisses from his cheek to his mouth. “I don’t know how much art’s going to get done in between...”

“Takes time. It’s a process. Gotta find my muse.” He buries his fingers in her hair and chases her lips.

She hums, stretching her hands down his front. “Mom always said not to fall for a starving artist type,” she jokes.

He turns over, water sloshing over the edges of the tub, and smiles at her, their noses bumping. “Think it might be too late for that.” 

She stares back at him, tucks his hair away from his eyes and behind his ears. She’s earnest as she says, “Way too late.”

His memory’s still spotty in places, but it’s coming back steadily. And he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’s loved before, been stupid over girls and went through the heartbreak to show for it. But this,  _Darcy_ , she’s something else. She makes him feel whole. Not because she fills in the holes, only he can do that, but because she loves him, holes and all. He just hopes he does the same for her. He’d like to think he does. Like to think he gives her even half of what she gives to him. Sometimes, when she looks at him just like this, he thinks he has. He hopes he always will.


	45. caution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You look tired.”

“You look tired.” 

Steve snorts, scrubs his fingers through the beard that’s collected over the last few months. “You always say the nicest things.” 

Natasha arches an eyebrow. “You get any sleep last night?” 

“Not enough.” He tops off his mug of coffee. “JARVIS said you had something?” 

She hums, drops a folder in front of him. “Finally got something out of Belsair. He gave up a base in Croydon. Think it might be where Lewis was held the first time around, before she was brought over to Washington. No idea if it’s still active, but if it is...” 

“He say much about what they did there?” Flipping the folder open, Steve leans against the island counter. He stirs some sugar into his coffee and rubs the heel of his hand against one eye while he skims the file with the other. 

“He said it was mostly a holding site. According to Lewis’ files, the first week of her capture was spent being interrogated. When they realized she didn’t have anything they could use, they passed her onto the scientists.”

“So there’s experimentation going on at this site too?” A muscle ticked in his jaw as his fingers flexed on his mug.

“Since she was listed as Twelve, there’s at least eleven that came before her. No idea if they died or turned out like her. Or if they were held at this site or the Washington site. We didn’t find any files on them, just Lewis’. Could be this is where it all started.” 

He hums, stares down into his mug a moment. “When do you want to move?” 

“Hill said she can have the quinjet ready by eleven. We land in London by six, takes an hour’s drive to get to Croydon...”

“Back up?” 

“We’ll be short if we move today. Me, you, Sam if he’s up for it... Barton’s on his way in. No guarantee he’ll be here in time for take off. Stark left the tower late last night; he’s meeting up with Pepper in Miami. Both Banner and Thor are a little...  _loud_ for a mission like this.”

He nods. “It’s fine.” 

“Are you sure? Maybe you should get some sleep. We can always do it tomorrow.” 

He shakes his head, takes a gulp of his coffee and winces at the brief burn. “Tonight. C’mon...” He half-smiles at her, but he’s too tired to muster up much enthusiasm. “We took down SHIELD, we can take down one lab.”

“We had friendlies on the ground,” she reminds him, cocking her hip against the counter. 

“We weren’t sure about that at the time. It was wishful thinking.” He shrugs, finishes off his coffee, and crosses over to the mug in the sink. “I’ll talk to Sam. He’s tired of being sidelined anyway. He’ll appreciate a chance to see some action.” 

She sighs as he walks past her and turns to follow him with her eyes. “When I told you we could do some good, I didn’t think you’d lose sleep over it.” 

He pauses, his head falling back, and pivots to look at her. “It’s been a long week.”

“A long few months,” she corrects, staring at him searchingly. “Have you talked to Thor? Because last I heard, Barnes was doing well up there. Shiny new arm, making friends with the locals, getting his head on straight... You’d think that kind of news would help a guy sleep at night.” 

“It does.” His shoulders slump as a heavy sigh leaves him. “Just didn’t think it’d take this long. Guess I hoped he’d... find his way back sooner.” 

“So your Christmas miracle didn’t come through and your New Year’s wish was ignored. So what. At least you know he’s doing okay. And who knows, maybe the next time you see him, he’s going to be less like the Winter Soldier and more like your friend from Brooklyn.” 

“Yeah.” He nods, his eyes falling to the floor. “You’re right. I just...” 

“Miss him.” She walks toward him, staring up at him knowingly, an eyebrow arched. “When Barton was  _compromised_ , I... I wasn’t sure what to do. I focused on the mission because it meant taking down whoever hurt him. And I hoped that, in the process, I’d get him back. Fix whatever was going on in his head. I prioritized because I had to, but that doesn’t mean that part of me wasn’t  _terrified_ that I’d lost my partner. I know it’s not the same and I know it didn’t last as long as this, but... I get it. I get what it feels like to think you can’t save them or help them and the only thing you know you can do is your job.” She nods at him shortly. “You’re lucky, Rogers. He’s alive, he’s healing, and eventually, he’ll come back.” 

Steve stares back at her a long moment. “I never thought about that. About what it might’ve been like for you and Barton.” 

“Not many do.” Her lips quirk faintly. “We don’t have history books written about our  _epic_ partnership, but... I think we’ve done just fine.” 

He smiles to himself, snorts under his breath, and then shakes his head. “I’ll talk to Sam. We’ll be ready to go for eleven.” 

“Aye, aye, Captain,” she mocks lightheartedly, before she turns on her heel and walks away. 

He stares after her a moment and then continues on his own way. Sam’s knee has been steadily healing, but he’s not a fan of sitting around. He’s been helping keep track of different HYDRA sites, writing up detailed reports for them to go over before they head out. But he’s happier in the field and Steve feels better when Sam’s on his six. So he has high hopes for a good, clean mission. He ignores the dip in his gut that tells him to be cautious... Caution’s never been his strong suit. 

* * *

 


	46. farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you regretting this yet?”

“Are you regretting this yet?” 

He rolls his eyes. “You’re not heavy.”

“I’m a little heavy,” she says, hitching herself higher on his back as he piggybacks her across the bridge toward Heimdall’s observatory. “And this bridge is a lot longer than I thought it was.” 

“Tell me again why we couldn’t take the horses...?” 

“They freak me out. And there’re no railings on this bridge. What if the horse spooked and we went right over the edge? Then I’d not only die doing something stupid, but I’d be a horse killer. That’s not the kind of legacy I want to leave behind.”

He snorts a laugh. “Horse has been across this bridge a thousand times. I’m sure it wouldn’t take you over the edge.”

“So you  _think_. A thousand is a lot. The odds are against me.” 

He shakes his head, squeezes her knee lightly. “Time we get there, his dinner’s gonna be cold.” 

“Well, I suggested cold sandwiches anyway. You’d think with all their tech advances, they’d know how to keep food hot.” 

“Pretty sure they weren’t expecting us to take it this far.” 

She shrugs. “What do you think he did before us? Was there a messenger that brought him food? That’s lame. Does he not get invited to big dinners at the palace? Talk about rude.” She hums thoughtfully. “Hey, maybe Sif brought him food. She’s his sister. That was a trip to learn. I bet she grew up regretting he got the cool eyes. Not the vision thing so much, but the actual gold eyes.” 

“Never asked. Don’t see her around here too often.” 

“Yeah, she does a lot of diplomacy missions, I guess. Thor can’t do them all, especially when he’s in Midgard, and she’s basically his second in command, so I guess she goes in his stead when she can.” 

“Maybe Eir brings him food. They’re close.” 

“Yeah, that’s true. She’s a good cook too. Maybe she just makes him something and drops it by.” 

“She cooks?”

“Mmhmm. She brings me lunch sometimes when we’re training. I don’t know half the vegetables that go into it. She’s the equivalent of a vegetarian back home. But most of the stuff is Asgardian, and I’m not sure there’s a Midgardian equivalent. Anyway, it tastes awesome. I should ask her to share some recipes sometime...” 

He pauses just short of the observatory and bends to let her down. 

Her feet fall to the bridge; she rocks forward and then back and gives each leg a shake to get the blood flowing again. She’s got the bag of food in one hand and reaches for his with the other, their fingers twining as she walks ahead into the observatory. 

“Hey, speak of the devil,” Darcy says, smiling as she sees Eir. “Don’t tell me. You brought him food too. See? We’re a little late and he moves on to better prospects.” 

Eir turns toward them, but her expression isn’t amused so much as drawn, lips pinched. 

Darcy frowns, looking between them. “What’s wrong?”

He steps up beside her, looking to Heimdall, a brow raised. 

“There has been a... disturbance on Midgard.” Eir walks toward them, her hands out, and he reaches out to take it automatically. She squeezes tightly. “Understand that you are under no obligation to do anything that you don’t want to do. Whatever you decide, I will support you.” 

Worry stirs in his gut and he looks from her to Heimdall. “What kind of disturbance was there?” 

Heimdall sighs, and walks down the stairs to stand in front of them. “I have been keeping an eye on Midgard, on your friend, Steven Rogers, especially. He has been going on more missions of late, tracking HYDRA. The majority of his missions have been a success. Tonight’s was... difficult. I had faith that he and his comrades would be able to exit on their own. They’ve proven resourceful in the past. They were not expecting as many hostiles as they faced. Unfortunately, they are currently pinned inside the facility and taking heavy fire.”

“How many?” 

“They are increasingly outnumbered. Rogers has a small team with him. Samuel, son of Wil, Natasha Romanov, and Clint Barton have followed him into fire. Another, Maria Hill, is waiting to escort them home safely. She lost communication with them recently and has no idea of their situation.” 

“What about the others? Thor, Stark, the Hulk?” Darcy asks, her fingers gripping his. 

“The Man of Iron is elsewhere. He was not asked to join the fight. Neither was Thor or the Hulk, as they were deemed too  _loud_ for this particular fight.” 

“There are options here,” Eir says. “I can go to Midgard, to Thor, and tell him of what is happening. He can go to provide help for the others.”

“Or...” Heimdall met his eyes, “If you are inclined, I can send you. Both of you.” 

“But that is entirely up to you. If you decide you aren’t ready... If, for any reason, you’re not certain...” Eir looks between them, her concern clear. “No one will blame you if you choose not to enter this fight.” 

“They’re in danger.” Darcy looks up at Heimdall, chewing her lip. “And this is HYDRA. They went there because of us.” 

He stares back at her, his expression stoic. “They have their own reasons for fighting HYDRA.  _However_ , I do believe they entered this facility in the hopes that they might be able to help you in some manner.” 

He can hear horses approaching then, the clip-clop of hooves on the bridge.

Heimdall turns his gaze to him. “Steven is an accomplished warrior. He has been in many similar situations and has always found his way free.” 

“You think he will this time too?” 

“It’s very possible,” Heimdall admits.

He raises an eyebrow. “But you’re not sure.” 

“I think he is weary and the situation is complicated.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I would not tell you if I did not think that you would want to know...” 

“This is a big decision to make.” Eir rubs her thumb over his knuckles. “If you’re not ready...” 

“Are we?” Darcy turns to him, her expression open. “If you want to do this, I’m with you. A hundred percent.” 

He stares at her a moment, searches her eyes. “It’s  _Steve_ ,” he murmurs, his brow furrowed. 

She smiles encouragingly. “That’s good enough for me.”

Eir sighs. “I thought you might say that.” She waves at two guards, standing in the doorway to the observatory. “When Heimdall sent word that something was amiss, I prepared for you both to be as stubborn as I knew you’d be...” A trunk was laid at her feet. “Excuse the breach of privacy, but if you’re truly sure you want to do this...” The trunk lid is opened, revealing their clothes and weapons from when they first arrived, alongside the leather suit Eir had gifted Darcy with, folded on top. “I want you to be as prepared as possible.” 

Darcy reaches inside, draws her new clothes up and looks to Eir. “Are you okay with this?” 

“I’m worried. There’s no hiding that. But I trust your judgment. Both of you.” She looks to him, her lips pursed. “And if this is what you want to do, I told you, I’ll support you.” 

Darcy reaches for her, pulls her in for a hug, and he stares down into the trunk a long moment, taking a deep breath. 

Heimdall’s hand claps down on his shoulder, giving him an encouraging shake. “Well, James Barnes, it would seem that we have come full circle.” 

He half-smiles to himself, raises his chin and says, “Seems like it.” 

“The Bifröst will always be open to you. Should you need to return to Asgard, you need only ask for it.” He nods, a faint smile curving his mouth. “You will always be welcome here.” 

His throat tightens a moment before he nods. “Thanks.” 

When he looks back, Darcy already has her top on and is pulling her pants closed to lace the front. She shrugs at him. “What? Eir’s seen it all and you two were having a moment.” 

He shakes his head at her, lets out an exasperated sigh, and reaches for his suit. 

“Actually... If you don’t mind...” Heimdall steps away, and returns with a stack of clothing. “A new beginning should start fresh. I had these made for you knowing that someday you would be ready to return.” He hands the bundle to him. “They’re a stronger material, capable of fending off most blades. There is padding across the chest and thighs, plating sewn into the fabric, to shield against Midgardian bullets.”

“Feels light,” he notices. 

“The fabric is made in Alfheim, the fashion there is thin and light, but no less sturdy. It is favored by the warriors of Asgard, providing protection and ease of movement.” 

“If you’re sure...” He still feels skeptical, but he shrugs, takes his own shirt off and replaces it with the one Heimdall offered. It’s soft, thin, and molds to his frame easy enough. He switches out his pants and pulls on his boots a little further across the observatory, out of view of the others, and returns to find Darcy adding weapons to her person, latching the holsters around her thighs. One holds a gun, the other a knife. She tucks a second knife into her boot and a third into a holster against her ribs. He follows suit, making sure he’s comfortably carrying everything he needs, including a few leftover explosives in a pocket attached to the belt around his waist. 

It’s a strange feeling, carrying again, but it feels better than it once did. Not as heavy. There’s still a weight in his stomach, one that promises he’s going to see action soon. But there’s something else. It’s not anticipation, exactly, but awareness. That this is his choice and he can take it back if he wants. 

Darcy’s pulling her hair up into a high ponytail when she turns to him. “Ready?” 

He nods to her, accepts the spare elastic from her wrist, and combs his hair back. 

When a chunk falls across his cheek, Eir brushes it away and then cups a hand under his chin. “You’ll be careful?”

His first instinct is to tell her there’s no room for being careful in war. That choices will be made, people will be killed, and not all of it will be right or okay, but it happens. But then he meets her eyes, looking to him for reassurance, and he swallows his words. “I’ll try,” he says instead. 

She smiles faintly. “All I can ask, I suppose.” 

He shrugs and shifts his feet. “You can ask for more.” 

She takes a moment, then nods. “Okay. Then  _be safe_. Both of you. And if you change your mind, come back. There’s no shame in taking care of yourself.” 

He swallows tightly. “Okay.” 

“Good.” She taps his cheek then and steps back, her hands clasped together to keep them from seeing how they shake. 

Darcy crosses to stand beside him, her hand reaching for his. He can feel a fine tremor run through her, but she doesn’t let it show. “Snazzy clothes.” 

His mouth ticks up. “You too.” 

Heimdall climbs the stairs, Eir behind him, and they stare down regally at them from the platform, like two grim parents sending their children to war. 

His hand tightens around Darcy’s, and he stares back at them. “Thank you. For everything.” 

Darcy’s thumb rubs over his as she nods, half-smiling. “Wouldn’t have made it this far without you.” 

Heimdall’s hand grips tight to Hofund and twists the sword, activating the Bifröst. “Farewell, my friends. And good luck.” 

“Be well,” Eir tells them, smiling shakily.

It takes hold of them then, and they’re swept away, drawn into the tunnel-like bridge, surrounded by crackling energy, traveling so quickly it’s difficult to breathe. When they land, it’s night and they’re standing in a field just outside of a large facility, blaring with an alarm. 

Darcy looks up as the Bifröst as it’s sucked back up into the sky with a boom and a colorful display of light. Her gaze falls to him, a brow raised. “Not the most inconspicuous arrival.”

He can hear gunfire, followed by shouting in various languages. Frowning, he takes a deep, steadying breath. “Think we’ve been quiet long enough.”

She smirks and pulls a gun from her thigh holster. “Then let’s get loud.”


	47. assist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hail HYDRA!"

“Hail HYDRA!” 

Steve stares down the barrel of a gun, his teeth grit and his fingers balled into fists. The man above him was a wild card, sneaking in at the last moment, when Steve had already put down six others and thought he had just a second to breathe. He’s laying on his back, his shield out of reach and his gun empty. He releases his fingers, flexes them, hears the leather of his gloves crack. 

There are a lot of things that have gone through his head over the years. So many near-death moments that this doesn’t even feel all that unfamiliar. He flashes to the kitchen first, to Natasha telling him they can put it off one more day. Wonders if maybe they should have, if tomorrow night they would have had more luck. Or if maybe it was always going to end like this. It’s not much of a stretch to think HYDRA will be the reason he finally sees his end. After all, they’re the reason he was created. It has a strange sense of balance to it, he supposes. 

The man is sweating, and he’s hesitating. Whether because he isn’t sure the bullet will do the job or if he’s wondering if bringing Captain America in alive is a better idea, Steve’s not sure. He  _is_ sure he’s running out of time. The hesitation gives him an opening; a quick kick of his leg will knock his enemy’s feet out from under him. There’s a chance that even if he pulls the trigger, the bullet will go wide. It’s not a great chance, but it’s enough. 

He doesn’t get to test it. 

There’s a disturbance in the air, a familiar noise, before his shield flies by overhead, slams into his assailant’s chest full force. Steve’s pretty sure he can hear his rib cage cave in before he’s laid out on the ground, dead. 

The crunch of boots follow, and then a familiar voice drawling, “For a man who relies on a shield, you sure lose yours a lot...” 

His heart squeezes in his chest and his head falls back, eyes wide. “ _Bucky?!_ ” 

“Heard you ran into trouble...”

His throat burns as he rasps, almost absently, “I had him on the ropes.” 

Bucky snorts. “Yeah. Heard that before.” 

He holds a hand out and Steve takes it, letting him pull him up and onto his feet. For a moment, everything else fades. It’s just them, standing in a hallway, eye to eye. Bucky looks healthier than he did the last time Steve saw him. Not as gaunt or pale or suspicious. He looks good, less haunted, like he got some rest and, hopefully, more of his memory back. He’s not smiling, not looking at Steve exactly like he used to, like they were brothers, but it’s close. Enough that he feels a tickle in his throat. 

“You came back...”

“Was always going to. Just needed some time to figure things out.” He shrugs. “T’be honest, I’m not that surprised it’s because I’ve gotta pull your ass outta the fire.” 

Steve laughs, a choked huff of a noise. “You were pretty good at it.” 

“Looks like I still am.” His mouth hitches up faintly. “Your team all right?” 

“Can’t contact them. They’ve got a suppressor activated in the building. Comms went dead, couldn’t get a call out to anybody. Sam was with me, we got separated early on. Barton and Romanov moved in together from the other end.” 

“According to Heimdall, no casualties on your team last I checked.”

Steve’s brows hike. “How long’ve you been here?”

“Not long. Cleared out a side entrance, got a vehicle ready for evac.” 

He blinks. “Cleared it out?”

Bucky shrugs. “Cleared it out, blew it up, same difference.” 

Steve remembers the boom, the shake of the building, the way the lights flickered and the emergency flood lights flared up. But he’d thought it was his team. In a way, he was right. Just not who he was expecting.

“We should get moving.” Bucky checks his gun, one Steve's pretty sure he must’ve taken off a body, since it has a HYDRA emblem embossed on the handle. “Heimdall said you were outnumbered and pinned down. Guessing the rest of your team is in the same situation you were in.” 

There’s gunfire then, closer than the rest, and Steve whirls, ducks low to grab a gun from a limp hand. 

A HYDRA goon stumbles into view, hurrying backwards and fiddling with their gun at the mouth of the hallway. A boot comes down hard, knocks his gun loose, and another is kicked high to slam into his jaw. He falls backwards, blood spilling from his mouth, hits the wall and slides down it. He gets his hands behind him to push off, but a fist, and then an elbow, hits him hard in the face, and he falls unconscious to the floor. 

Darcy Lewis turns toward them, ponytail swinging. Her brows raise as she puts a hand to her hip. “Hug it out later, boys. We’ve got work to do.” With that, she turns on her heel and marches away. 

Steve looks back to Bucky, who shrugs. “You heard her.” He walks forward, grabs up the shield, and casually tosses it back to Steve. “Let’s find your team.” 

Steve follows after him, double checking the magazine in the gun he filched. Darcy is up ahead, but she slows at an intersection of hallways. “The right is clear, up ahead leads to the cells. Left leads deeper into the building. If we plan on getting your people out, left is our best option.” 

“Anybody in the cells?” Bucky asks, turning back to him. 

Steve shakes his head slowly. “Not that we know of. We didn’t have a whole lot to go on. We weren’t sure how many were on the ground or if the place had been emptied out.” 

Frowning, Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Who vetted this place?” 

Steve sighs. “We have a few HYDRA agents in our custody. Someone gave this site up. We didn’t set up surveillance, we just moved on it. We think...” He looks back to Darcy. “We think it was where you were held when you were first taken.” 

“It is.” She casts her eyes around, her expression neutral. “That’s why I knew where the cells were. Interrogation room’s that way.” She points a thumb down the right hallway. “Place is just as clean I remember...” 

Steve turns back to Bucky. “We moved too soon. That was my fault. I’ve been... I made a bad call.” 

“It’s not perfect, but I think it’s manageable.” Darcy pulls a knife from a holster around her ribs and flips it around her fingers casually. “There’s a connecting hallway through the cells. You two take this one, I’ll meet you on the other side.” 

“ _Darcy_ ,” Bucky says, his voice low.

She smiles back at him reassuringly and tips her head, her expression nothing but affectionate. “You know?” 

He swallows, gives a quick nod. “I know.... You?” 

She winks. “I do.” And then she’s off, jogging ahead and ducking through a swinging door. 

“What was that?” Steve wonders. 

“We need to move.” Bucky passes him, gun and knife out and starts down the left hallway. “Keep your eyes open. They know we’re here and they probably called for back up.” 

“Cut the lines, no calls in or out,” Steve tells him, shaking his head. “Security protocol."

“Estimated unfriendlies?” 

He sighs, lips pinched. “We were expecting more scientists than soldiers. Think we picked a bad time to come in light. I should’ve prepped more, brought more people...” 

Before he can say more, the end of the hallway lights up with gunfire, and a collection of HYDRA agents appear to be running away. Steve exchanges a look with Bucky, who shrugs, and they step forward to meet the spill over. 

Steve can see the exact moment the agents realize who they’re running toward as their boots slow on the floor and a few of them stumble. There’s a collective pause, and then they get their backs up, gather their courage, and engage. 

Fighting comes easy to Steve. He’s tired, bruised, and bleeding, but half of his moves are instinctive. He blocks blow after blow, ducks a knife coming for his face, and snaps an agent’s arm in the process. Bucky cuts through his attackers like butter, controlled in a way he wasn’t before. When they’d gone head to head on the bridge, there was a chaotic energy about him, a cold efficiency that was edged with violent rage. Now his attack is smooth and focused without the added layer of anger. There’s still a spark in his eye when someone goes down, something dark lurking there, but he tamps it down and stays on task. 

When the hallway is clear and there’s nothing but a pile of limp bodies, unconscious or worse, they keep moving. 

There’s a fight going on around the corner, and they speed up to get to it in time. 

Darcy is engaging two assailants at the same time, and Steve is only mildly surprised to see that Natasha is engaging three more not far from her. 

“Explains why they ran,” he mutters to himself. He’s about to step forward, to enter the fray, when Bucky’s hand lands on his shoulder to stop him. 

“She’s got it.”

Darcy parries a knife going for her neck, grabs her attacker’s wrist, twists it, and then stabs her own knife into his side. The man lets out a guttural cry that goes ignored. She releases his wrist to bring her elbow back, slamming it down onto his cheek so hard that Steve can hear it snap under the blow. The man’s legs give out under him and Darcy’s knee quickly meets his nose. While his head flies back, blood dribbling, Darcy turns to face the other guy, grabbing his arm as he waves a gun toward her. The gun goes low, two bullets pop off and hit her first assailant hard in the chest. She pushes the gun wide until it snaps the gunman’s finger back and then slams her palm into his throat. He chokes, stumbles backwards. She turns, giving him her back, wraps her arm around his head, jumps and then lets herself fall forward, her legs drawn up. Her weight and the momentum tosses the man forward and over, slamming hard onto his back, out of breath and desperately gasping. A kick to his head knocks him out and then she’s walking forward, head cocked as she watches Natasha do her own dance. 

In a matter of seconds, five men are on the ground, and Natasha and Darcy stand triumphant, turning to face them, brows raised. 

“Took you long enough,” Natasha says, a grin playing over her lips. 

Steve shakes his head, swallows a sigh. “Barton? Sam?” 

“Barton’s on the roof. He’s keeping the path clear to a vehicle someone conveniently parked by a blown out wall...” She looks between Darcy and Bucky curiously. “I see the cavalry arrived.” 

“We were in the neighborhood,” Darcy snarks, then wipes her knife on her pants and steps forward. “So. Son of Wil is next on the save list? Anybody got an idea where he might be?” 

Natasha side-eyes her briefly. “Records. It’s--”

“I know where it is.” Darcy marches forward. “Right across from the labs.” 

Bucky moves past him then, hurries his steps to fall in line with her. His hand reaches for the small of her back and Darcy leans over, bumps her head against his shoulder briefly. “I’m good,” she tells him quietly. 

He eyes her a moment longer, and then nods. 

Steve watches them a moment and then starts following. 

Natasha spins on her heels and keeps pace at his side. “When’d they show up?” 

“Just in time.” He stares after them, their steps perfectly in sync. “Bucky said Heimdall told him what was going on. That there were no casualties so far. Guess he thought we needed the assist.” 

“Should I gloat now or later?” 

Steve raises a brow, frowning at her. 

She smirks. “I told you he’d come back.”

“Yeah...” His expression turns grim. “But is he staying?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all don't even know how excited i am to be at this chapter. i've been planning it in my head for AGES, so i'm really happy we're finally here!


	48. subject

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Didn’t peg you as a hoarder, Son of Wil."

“Didn’t peg you as a hoarder, Son of Wil.” 

Sam whirls around, eyes wide, and finds a familiar face standing just down the aisle from him, a gun in one hand. He’s not too proud to admit that she makes a rather terrifying sight. Especially given their last meeting.  

There’s a box of files at his feet and numerous others toppled over from the shelves behind him. He blinks, brow furrowed, and then clucks his tongue. “Aw man, c’mon, my knee  _just_ healed!” 

Darcy Lewis rolls her eyes and lowers her gun. “Here to rescue, not maim, promise.” 

“Uh-huh. And I’m just supposed to take your word for it, huh?” 

“Last time we met, that was an unfortunate miscommunication. In my defense, I didn’t know who you were or what you wanted.” She shrugs, walking forward, eyeing the boxes around him. “We heard you were in trouble down here, came to help. Rogers and Natasha are clearing the hallway. We’ve got a truck ready for evac, just waiting on you, cowboy.” 

Sam looks her over a moment. She doesn’t seem nearly as tense as she had before, and she looks... healthier. The paranoia and anger that radiated off of her in the warehouse isn’t there anymore, and she seems more in control of herself. 

“You look better. Not as ready to murder people, at least.” 

“Murder’s a big word.” 

He arches an eyebrow at her and lets out a scoff of a laugh. “You had a knife to Steve’s throat.” 

“Well, he brought up Jane and I thought you were HYDRA. One threat deserves another of equal or greater value. I have a coupon, I swear.” 

He snorts, gives his head a shake. “All right. If you say so.” 

“I say a lot of things. You’ll learn to tune me out.” She cocks her head and looks at the files curiously. “What exactly are you looking for?” 

“Honestly...” He peers back at her. “I read your file. Didn’t have a whole lot else to do while I was holed up on medical leave. Foster wanted my opinion on what your mental state might be like, back when she was hellbent on rescuing you from Asgard... Said in the file that you were ‘Subject Twelve.’ Got me thinking, what happened to the other eleven...” 

“So you thought you’d find out first hand... While the building was going to shit.” 

He shrugs. “They had it handled.” 

Darcy snorts. “Pretty sure we were called in because they  _didn’t_ have it handled.” She stops just short of the box though and bends to finger through a few folders. “You find anything?” 

“A lot, actually.” He bends alongside her. “Subjects One through Eight, died on the table. The first three didn’t live past a week. The others managed a few months. But the cocktail they were feeding these guys was potent. Had just about everything in there, including a knock-off serum. Which, from what I can tell, was what was killing them.” 

“So they took it out?” 

“Looks like. I don’t think what they put in you had the serum in it. Or, if it did, it was a different version than what they were using before.” 

“Their knock-off serum has worked before though.” 

“Not always. The survival rate was low. I’d put money down that Barnes was the only one that lived through it back in ‘43.” 

“They’ve had time to engineer a better version,” she muses, poking through the files. 

“Maybe. Time doesn’t always mean it’s put to good use.” He pauses, drops his gaze for a moment, and considers some of the information he’s gathered. “We should talk about this after. When we’re not in a potentially life-threatening situation.” 

“Sure. Right after you tell me exactly what popped into your head just now.” 

He looks up at her to find her lips pursed and her eyebrow raised; she’s not budging. With a sigh, he shakes his head. “The first subject goes back to 1954.” 

Darcy looks away for a moment, her brow furrowed. “1954... If they lost the first eight people in a matter of weeks or months...” 

“Subject Nine lived for years. He was there... He was an experiment from day one and he never stopped being that. They tested everything on him. He was a lab rat for two decades.” 

“Two...” She trails off, swallowing thickly. “What happened to him?” 

Sam pauses. “Killed himself in ‘77. Subject Ten was already with them three years by then.” 

“And them? How long did they last?” 

“Didn’t get that far.” He taps a file against the edge of the box, but turns his head as he hears the increase in gunfire. “We need to get moving.” 

“They’re fine,” she says absently. At his unconvinced face, she rolls her eyes. “I can feel their energy. They’re annoyed, but not in danger. He’s actually enjoying himself a little. First gun he’s handled in a while, I think he’s feeling a little trigger happy.” She stands, a hand on her hip. “Take the necessary files, leave the rest.”

“Who decides what’s necessary?” 

“We don’t have time for everything. But those files... I need those.” 

Sam nods, gathers up multiple files, some thicker than others, and puts them in a box. “You gonna cover me?” 

“Well, I do owe you for that knee...” She half-smiles and turns to walk back toward the door. 

“Damn right you owe me,” he mutters, following after her. 

Sam’s surprised to find just how close his team is as he steps through the door. Steve and Natasha are holding down one side while Barnes is taking on the other, his metal arm glinting from the flashing, red alarm light. 

Darcy stands in front of Sam, taps her gun against her thigh. She turns to say something, but pauses, eyes caught ahead of her on the labs, a muscle ticking in her cheek. He’s close enough that he can see a tremble run through her, and she lets out a puff of shaky breath. 

“ _Bucky!_ ” Rogers shouts worriedly.

Sam’s head swivels, sees a knife coming right for Barnes’ back. Darcy snaps into the moment, throws a hand out, and a wave of  _something_ shoots forward. It’s clear at first, a ripple through the air, and then it covers Barnes, from head to toe, and glistens with a pale green hue. The knife bounces off of it and clatters to the ground. In the same moment, Darcy raises her hand, squeezes off two shots, the bullets hit center to the forehead on the perpetrator. 

There’s a stunned pause in gunfire for all of three seconds before Natasha raises her own gun, takes out five agents, and then turns to them. “Move, move, move!” 

Sam bumps Darcy’s shoulder, who shakes her head and blinks herself back into focus. The energy shield falls from Barnes and disappears from sight. He stalks across the hall and reaches for Darcy, staring at her searchingly. “You okay?” 

“I’m good. I’m fine.” She nods at him, steps closer, and reaches around to his back. “It didn’t hit you?” 

“Didn’t feel a thing... Could’ve taken the hit. Heimdall said the fabric--”

“Let’s not take our chances, all right? I’d rather test it in a controlled situation, not out here.” She smiles reassuringly. “Let’s go. Before your buddy gets into anymore trouble.”

“Good luck avoiding that,” Sam mutters. 

Barnes turns to him, eyes him a moment. “Uh... Son of Wil?” 

Darcy snorts.

“Sam Wilson,” he holds a hand out for him to shake. “Thor calls me that too.” 

“It’s an Asgardian thing,” Darcy explains, and then shrugs. “Well, and a Nordic thing here too.” 

“Just Sam works fine for me,” he tells them. 

Darcy turns to Barnes, her brows hiked. “‘Just Sam’ found some files on the other eleven subjects.”

Barnes looks down at the box and nods.

“Is this a tea party or an extraction mission?” Natasha suddenly shouts to them. 

“Could go for some tea, actually,” Sam replies. “We’re in London. You think Maria’s gonna mind waiting if I pick up a cup to go?” 

Natasha snorts and disappears around the corner. Sam follows after her, picking up his steps. Barnes and Darcy takes up the rear, and Sam’s not completely sure, but they seem to be communicating non verbally. Just facial expressions and body language. 

It’s not long before he catches up to Natasha and Steve. “Barton all right?”

“He’s on the roof, keeping lookout,” Natasha tells him over her shoulder. “The Rescue Twins blew up a wall and brought a truck around for us. They also emptied out a good chunk of the building.” 

“Just the two of them?” He looks back, brow furrowed curiously. 

“Bucky saved me. I was pinned down, had a gun in my face, things were a little...” Steve shrugs. “He showed up, leveled the guy with my shield. Darcy came around the corner, took another guy out. They’re... efficient.” 

“They’re more than efficient. They’re partners operating on the same wave length. Not an easy thing to find.” Natasha looks past him toward the dynamic duo. With a snort, she nudges Steve with her elbow. “She’s well trained. Maybe your reflexes weren’t as bad I said they were when she took you down at the warehouse.” 

“And that energy thing? The shield she threw up.” Sam whistles. “That was cool.” 

Steve nods. “Doctor Foster said she had some abilities.” 

“She threw up a whole wall before, to keep us from coming after them. This time she condensed it to just shielding Barnes.” Natasha looks thoughtful. “Thor said she was practicing, getting help to control her abilities. That could be more than a little useful in the field...”

“I don’t know.” Steve frowns. "Thor said that wall put her in a coma last time...” 

“She looks okay to me,” Sam tells them. “Barnes was worried, but she said she was fine.” 

With a hum, Natasha shrugs. “Well, maybe they’ll be more forthcoming on the ride home.” 

“If they’re coming home,” Steve mutters. 

Sam lifts the box a little. “I have some files she wants to read up on. When I mentioned going over them later, she didn’t look worried about it. Think they might be sticking around a while.” 

“You could always try  _asking_ them...” Natasha rolls her eyes and speeds her steps up a little. She catches a guy just about to come out from around the corner, yanks on his arm and then uses the strap of his gun to choke him out. 

Sam’s not even surprised at this point. He just clucks his tongue at her smug grin while they pass her and her victim. 

Catching up to walk at Steve’s side, he lowers his voice a little. “You doin’ all right?” 

“Of course. Why?” 

“Look, I know you were hoping he’d come back, but the reunion you had in your head probably didn’t look like this...” 

“It’s fine. I- I’m just glad he’s here.” 

“Sure. But--” He pauses, looks back to find the hall behind them empty. “Uh...” 

Steve turns with him, frowning at the quiet hallway at their back. Panic crosses his face abruptly. “Did you see where they...?” 

“No. I didn’t see them leave.” He purses his lips. “Look, they might be coming back. Could’ve seen something, headed it off. Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Right.” His expression turns bitter. “Because it’s not like they ran off and hid in Asgard for months the last time we ran into each other.” 

“Steve...” 

“It’s fine.” A muscle ticks in his jaw. “We need to keep moving.” 

Sam sighs, but nods, and follows along beside him. 

By the time they reach the giant hole in the wall, Natasha is already there. There’s multiple bodies on the ground with arrows sticking out of them, but when Sam takes a look around, he can’t spot Barton anywhere. 

Sitting in the driver’s seat, looking completely at ease, Natasha fiddles with the radio. “Barton called shotgun, so you two are in the back,” she shouts to them. 

“What? With  _those_ shoulders? Man, that just ain’t fair,” Sam complains, but puts the box of files into the back of the open SUV trunk, and walks around to climb inside. 

Steve is subdued as he takes a seat on the other side, pulling the door closed with a snap. 

“Where’s the Asgardian Adoptees?” Barton wonders, as he climbs into the front. He’s looking a little rough, dirt streaking his skin and a drying scrape across his cheek. 

“Don’t know. They cut out on us.” Dragging a hand over his face, Steve shakes his head. “Let’s get out of here before whoever’s left mobilizes.” 

Natasha stares at him a moment longer, but then nods, puts the truck in drive and pulls forward. Gravel spits from under the wheels as they pull away, cutting across the lot and taking a sharp turn around the building, headed for the closed gate at the front. The truck goes right through the chain link fence in the same moment that the building blows behind them. A boom rocks the ground, and three of the four people turn in their seats to see fire shoot up toward the sky. Multiple charges goes off in succession, chunks of building bursting in every direction as it’s blown to pieces. 

“Think I know where they disappeared to,” Sam mutters. 

A second, and then a third, vehicle suddenly appear, wheels squealing as they give chase. 

“We’ve got company,” Natasha says, foot pressing down a little harder on the gas. 

The SUV in the middle rolls down a window; a HYDRA goon climbs out, machine gun in hand. Before he can raise it, however, the vehicle behind them speeds up, and Barnes leans out the passenger side window. The gun-man catches a bullet through the throat and falls sideways, hanging out the window limply. Two more shots pop off from Barnes, hitting the driver, and the SUV swerves to the left, meeting a ditch to the side of the road and rolling. 

Barnes ducks back into his vehicle and the SUV calmly keeps at their tail. Sam can see Darcy at the wheel, head turned to say something to Barnes, who nods at her. 

Natasha smirks back at them. “Looks like we'll have company on the way home, Rogers. Think you can stop moping now?” 

His mouth twitches. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

Sam snorts and settles himself back into his seat. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m beat. Wake me up when we get to the Quinjet.” He crosses his arms and leans his head back, letting his eyes fall closed. “You get a hold of Hill somehow, let her know I was extremely heroic and she should take me up on that offer for dinner sometime.” 

Steve snorts. “We’ll pass it on.” 

“Good.” He half-smiles to himself but then lets his exhaustion catch up to him. This fight is the first time he’s seen action in for a while and, though his knee is technically healed, there’s still a little strain from overuse. Hell if he was going to admit that though. Natasha offered to help him with physio therapy a couple times, but he was pretty sure going into a gym with her would be like baiting a lion with a raw steak. Woman was fierce and accomplished, but she’d fold him into a pretzel and tell him it was part of the process. He was not that bendy and unwilling to test those limits.

As he drifts off, he absently hopes he'll be awake for the reunion though, without any gunfire or near-death experiences to dampen it. Steve has been waiting on Barnes for a long time. Yeah, he was scared his friend wouldn’t be sticking around and, sure, that was a possibility. But at least then Steve would get closure, and the man deserved that, at least. Honestly, though, Sam’s hoping it’s not closure he finds, but instead a fresh beginning. For all involved.


	49. fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What happened to ‘grab what’s necessary’?"

"What happened to ‘grab what’s necessary’?" 

Darcy raises an eyebrow at Sam, as he circles around to the back end of the SUV, where she’s packing loose files into boxes. “We decided if we were going to blow the joint up, we should take as much as we could carry.” 

He eyes the boxes and lets out a long whistle. “Looks like you can carry a lot.” 

She shrugs. “Especially when you back a truck through the records office wall and just throw it all in the trunk.” 

He hums, reaches in to stack a couple boxes on top of each other and haul them into his arms. “Feel good? Blowing the place up.” 

She offers a faint smile. “Felt justified.”

“Can’t argue that.” He stifles a yawn in his shoulder and then walks off, boxes in arm, toward the ramp leading into the quinjet.

Darcy finishes collecting the loose files, catching a few words as she goes: ‘test’ ‘blood’ ‘foam’ ‘needles’ ‘scalpel’ ‘vivisection’ ‘tumors’ ‘suicide’, etc. Her stomach tightens up each time. There’s a moment where she’s overwhelmed by the smell of the lab she was held in. That sterile, clean, scent, fills her nostrils. And the low chatter of voices fills her ears, their humming and curiosity over each new trait she showed. The sharp slice of a knife against her skin. The terrified, wet, sob she’d give, pleading with them--

“Darcy?” 

She startles, drops a file in her hand and lets out a quick breath. “Yeah, sorry, what?” She turns to see James at her side, watching her. His energy spikes with worry. “I’m fine.” 

“You went away for a second.” He reaches for her hand, pulls it back from where it’s gripping the edge of a box. “You need a break?” 

“No. I'm fine. I just...” She swallows tightly. “Just a memory. Hit me kind of quick, that’s all.”

His eyes search her face, and then he tugs on her hand, draws her toward him. She circles his waist with her arms and presses her face to his chest, just breathing him in, deeper and deeper, until all she can smell is him. All she can feel his heat and the weight of his arms wrapped around her. The lab, the smells, the sounds, they all fade away. 

“You wanna talk about it?” he wonders.

She shakes her head. “Not right now.” She closes her eyes and tries to steady her heart. “Later.”

He nods, rubbing a hand up and down her back soothingly. 

Underneath his worry for her, she can tell his energy is still agitated. He’s been stiff and wary since they parked the truck next to Rogers and company. “Are  _you_ okay?”

“’m fine,” he says. “More worried about you. Going in there, couldn’t be easy. And that wall you put up... Sure you’re not tired?” 

Darcy tips her head back to see him. “We did good in there. Seriously, I feel more kickass then usual. Which is saying something, because I feel particularly badass most of the time.”

He snorts a laugh and leans down to press a kiss to her forehead.

Her hands sweep up to his shoulders and squeeze. “Are you worried about Steve?” 

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding onto her, resting his chin atop her head. “All it takes is one word and Heimdall will beam us back in a heartbeat.” 

"Yeah... I know.”  

“We can stay or go. I can be a buffer between you if that’s what you need, or make an excuse that we can’t hang around too long...” 

He sighs, leans back so he can see her face. “I don’t know what to say to him.” 

“Okay. Well... You remember when we were on the run, I’d have nightmares and I’d wake up screaming and you didn’t know what to do.” 

He nods. 

"So you did what you could, just hold me until I calmed down...” She smiles reassuringly. “Maybe it’s like that.”

His mouth twitches. “You want me to cuddle Stevie?” 

She snorts. “I don’t think he’d turn you down. But, what I mean is maybe you don’t need to say anything, maybe you just need to be there. And eventually, you’ll know what you want to say.” 

He takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay.” 

Darcy squeezes his shoulders. “Good. So... We’re staying?” 

His mouth parts to answer, but a cleared throat interrupts them. They don’t let go of each other, instead turning to see Steve standing just a few feet away.

“Uh, sorry, but... Sam said you had some boxes you needed help carrying in?” 

Steve Rogers is much bigger than Darcy’d imagined. Maybe because most of the stories she’s heard were about when he was a short, thin man, constantly struggling with illness. She’s seen him in action, so she knows he’s not like that, and she’s read the biographies that have been put out on him over the years. But still, something about seeing him standing there, just short of awkward, his shoulders a little hunched, and his eyes looking between them like he’s waiting on a swift rejection, makes her heart stutter in her chest. 

“Yeah. Could use some help.” He keeps one arm around Darcy’s waist as he steps to the side, pulls a box out from the trunk with his metal hand. “We’re going straight to New York? No stop-offs?” 

Steve stares at him, brows hiked. “ _Yeah_. Uh, yeah, we are. There’s a landing pad on top of Avengers Tower.” 

He nods, looks back to her meaningfully. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” She rubs his back and then reaches for another box. “Then let’s get this stuff loaded. I think I’ve had more than enough of London to last me a life time...”

Emptying out the truck of the last of the boxes doesn’t take too long when she’s got the help of two super soldiers. They leave the trucks where they are and climb into the teched out quinjet. The boys go one way while she admires the set-up.

Hill is going over something on a tablet nearby. She nods at Darcy, not the least bit surprised to see her, and Darcy wonders if she’s just so used to the unexpected that nothing fazes her anymore. With a few more taps to the screen, she tucks the tablet under her arm and turns her attention to Darcy. “Should I let Foster know you’re en route, or is a giant alien cyclone going to sweep you off to the Emerald City before we land?” 

Darcy snorts. “No rainbow bridge getaway this time. But with the time difference, it’s what, 2 in the morning here? By the time we land, it’ll be 3 am New York time... Let her sleep. We can catch up at normal people hours.”

Hill searches her face a moment, then her mouth tips up. “You look better, Lewis.” 

Her eyes roll lightheartedly. “Geez, you hold a knife to a national icon’s throat  _one_ time and everybody writes you off as unhealthy...” 

Hill laughs under her breath. “It’ll be good to have you in the Tower. Foster’s been better lately. Thor helps. And she has a new intern to keep her on schedule. But... she’s missed you.” 

“Yeah, well, I’ve missed her too.” She kicks the floor with her boot. “New intern? They any good?” 

With a knowing smile, Hill says, “Not as good as her last one, but they do what they can.” 

Darcy nods, her heart skipping a little.  

Hill turns her head then, eyes narrowed. “Barton, you better not be fiddling with my controls...” Darcy can hear her counting to five under her breath before she looks at her once more. “We’re taking off soon. Strap in. When we’re level, you can move around. There’s a seat belt light. Do me a favor and listen to it.” With that, she stalks off, muttering about Hawkeye and clipping his wings. 

Darcy watches her go, then shakes her head, and turns her attention to tracking down her handsomer half. She finds him by a table, standing alone with a few boxes in front of him, files opened and pages spread. 

“We need to strap in,” she says as she stops beside him, careful not to look at the papers. She hooks a finger into the back of his belt and tugs. “Hill’s orders.” 

“That the cranky looking brunette?” he wonders, eyes scanning the room.

“Mmhmm. She was in the warehouse. I think she’s been keeping an eye on Jane while I was... Uh, you know.” 

He looks over at her, frowns, and reaches a hand out, folding their fingers together and squeezing. “You ready to see her?”

Darcy takes a deep breath, tips her head back and squints at the ceiling. “Not really. But... I don’t feel like running away in terror at just the  _idea_ of it, so... Progress, I guess.” She leans over, rests her head against his shoulder. “Find anything interesting?” 

His mouth twists. “More disturbing than interesting.” 

“Same thing to HYDRA...” 

“Yeah.” He gives her hand a shake. “C’mon. We’ll look through it after.” 

Darcy follows him over to the rows of seats, not surprised when he purposely sits at the back. He doesn’t like having people behind him, and she can’t say she disagrees. Sam and Steve sit in front of them, then Natasha and Barton. 

Maria is at the helm. As the back door to the quinjet closes, she calls back wryly, “Buckle up, kids. If you’re good, there’s juice packs and animal crackers for an in-flight snack.” 

Darcy doesn’t bother to hide her amusement. She doesn’t know Maria well, but she’s pretty sure she’s going to like her. 


End file.
